Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears
by Aln-Mai
Summary: Harry is in his sixth year, and not doing too well in Potions. What happens to Harry when things go horribly wrong in Snape's class...and what are the consequences?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears

* * *

**

A/N: This is in Harry's sixth year, midway through the year, approaching the Christmas hols. I might do something leading up to this point, but I don't have any motivation for it yet. Read and enjoy!

* * *

How Harry had gotten into N.E.W.T. level Potions, he had no idea. These assignments were so complex, Harry might as well have been trying to build a Muggle car. Sometimes the directions on the page would split off into three different sets, each of them as hard as the next, and all supposed to happen with each other in order to ensure the potion's successful concoction. Harry was struggling, there was no doubt about it.

Only three Gryffindors had scored 'O's on their O.W.L.s: Hermione, Lavender and Dean. Both he and Ron had scored 'E' on their O.W.L.s, but they had nonetheless wound up in Snape's N.E.W.T. class as well, despite what McGonagall had told Harry about Snape only taking students who scored 'O'. Harry reminded himself that it was probably due to Dumbledore, and possibly McGonagall, who had sworn that she would help Harry become an Auror.

Harry shook himself. How many times had he thought about that this term? He couldn't get over the fact that exceptions were obviously being made for him, that people were still treating him as "the special one." Even Snape hadn't been as nasty to him as usual, only taking five points from Harry instead of fifty when he was caught not paying attention. Then again, Ron had also been let into N.E.W.T. Potions with an 'E', so Harry knew that he wasn't the only one being helped along.

Harry's mind wandered, thinking of the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, and the hopelessness of Gryffindor's Chasers. Ginny and Katie were brilliant, but Rachel Yepert left something to be desired…Harry had no idea why Katie had picked her out of all those who tried out, since they were all rather lousy.

Harry wasn't really paying full attention to his potion, but something in the back of his mind told him he was doing it wrong. Harry glanced at his watch. There were only ten minutes left! He quickly scanned his potions text for the next ingredient, and his eyes lit upon extract of spleenwort. He hastily rummaged through the ingredients in front of him, and he grabbed the small vial of beige-colored powder. He unstoppered the vial and dribbled a little into his cauldron…

The potion exploded violently from the cauldron, splattering the stone ceiling, the table, and Harry's things. Harry threw up his left arm to protect his face, and the potion doused his arm, soaking through his robes and shirt. The other students screamed, and Snape's head snapped around from where he was criticizing Lavender's attempt at potion-making. Harry looked at his cauldron, and was horrified to see that the potion was _melting_ the cauldron like acid. The stone ceiling was beginning to erode where the potion had splattered, and Harry's things and the table were likewise dissolving.

A searing pain unlike anything Harry had ever felt permeated his arm. He looked and saw the skin of his hand _dripping_ from the bones, which was also being liquefied before his very eyes. He screamed in pain and horror, his voice reaching a pitch where it was inaudible; Harry silently cried out in agony.

Hermione screamed when she saw the robes over Harry's left arm melting away, and Ron stood dumbly, staring with wide eyes as Harry's arm slowly disappeared. Even Malfoy stood rooted to the spot, a shocked expression on his pale, pointed face.

"_SCOURGIFY!" _Snape bellowed, pointing his wand at the ceiling. The potion abruptly vanished and the damage was magically halted. Snape waved his wand at Harry's cauldron and bag, and the potion was similarly removed.

"You imbecilic—" Snape began to say, but stopped and swore when he saw Harry collapsed on the floor, his mouth open in silent suffering, his eyes squeezed shut, and the bloody mess dripping from the place where his arm had been.

"_Cauterion!"_ Snape cried, pointing his wand at where the potion damage stopped, just above Harry's elbow. A thick white material sprang from the tip of Snape's wand and enclosed Harry's arm completely. Snape moved his wand up Harry's arm, encasing the damaged area with what appeared to be a thick white cast. Harry, however continued to scream with no voice, curling into a ball despite the bandage.

"Do something!" Hermione shrieked at Professor Snape, tears leaking from her eyes. Snape had a look of high astonishment on his face, his eyes wide as he surveyed the damage done by the botched concoction.

"Help him, Professor Snape!" Ron cried. Snape seemed to snap back to reality, and he stared at Harry for a split second, considering his options. Then, with a grim expression on his face, pointed his wand at Harry and said, "_Stupefy!"

* * *

_

Harry awoke in the hospital wing, and the pain in his arm was there to meet him. He cried out again, then forced his voice to quit, biting his lip. The pain was admittedly less than before. _It's not so bad,_ he told himself. After he had settled down a bit, he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings.

Madam Pomfrey was standing over him with her wand pointed at him, apparently having just revived him. His left arm was still in the bandage, but looking again, he saw three other bandages like it lying on a trolley next to his bed. They had all been cut away, and the inside were corroded, and stained red with blood. _His blood_, he realized. He glanced again at his arm, and noted the tourniquet around his arm just above where the bandage was.

He looked at Madam Pomfrey, who had seen him glance at the bandages.

"What's wrong with the bandages?" he asked, attempting to keep his voice even.

"Nothing is wrong with the bandages, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. "They worked as they should have. However, whatever impressive concoction you seem to have made was not neutralized by the Cauterizing Charm. Although it slowed the potion's progress considerably, it did not stop it."

"Why is there less pain, then?" Harry asked, glancing around again. He and Madam Pomfrey were alone in the hospital wing.

"I gave you a magical pain-killer. The fact that you can still feel pain again demonstrates the power of whatever it was that you made. This particular pain-killer would stop you from feeling the pain of a beheading, much less a burn…"

"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked, then winced at his blunt tone. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips.

"He has been notified of your condition. No one, and I mean _no one_, will be allowed to see you until I'm finished with the procedure."

"What procedure?" Harry asked. Madam Pomfrey looked sadly at him, and his stomach plummeted.

"I want to know what procedure you plan on doing," Harry demanded, his voice quavering.

"No, Mr. Potter, you don't," she said and pointed her wand at him again.

"_Stupefy!"_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

Harry awoke again, still in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was standing over him again with her wand pointed at him. Harry's train of thought picked up right where it left off.

"_What procedure?"_ Harry demanded again, glaring at Madam Pomfrey.

"It has already been performed, Mr. Potter," she said, a slight hitch of compassion in her voice. Harry looked down at his arm.

It was gone.

"_BLOODY HELL!"_ Harry cried, looking at the stump of what used to be his left arm. "What have you _done?!_"

"Mr. Potter…" Madam Pomfrey tried to say.

"What the hell were you thinking? Dumbledore could have found a solution, hell, even a git like _Snape_ could have done better! How do…"

"_Silencio!"_

Harry's mouth continued to work, but no sound came out. He glared at Madam Pomfrey, who glowered right back. She hovered over the foot of his bed menacingly.

"All right, Mr. Potter. First of all, you do not speak ill of the staff, so five points from Gryffindor."

Harry attempted an outcry of protest, but without success.

"Second, you will not run your mouth like that in this hospital wing. Understood?"

Harry grimaced and nodded.

"Third, Professor Dumbledore is the one who approved the amputation of your arm, and I'll tell you why. The potion you created could not be stopped. Unlike Muggle acids, which diminish as they react with something, your 'elixir' multiplied as it reacted. It would have dissolved your entire body. It could not be removed from your body using a cleaning spell; the reactants in the potion were too well embedded in your tissue. The only way to _save your life_ was to amputate the arm."

Harry stared at her in disbelief. He looked down at the stump of his arm, which ended just above where his elbow had been. A lone tear leaked out of his eye and trailed down his face.

"_Finite Incantatem._" Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at Harry and lifted the silencing charm.

"Where is it?" Harry mumbled.

"Where is what, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked with a bite of steel in her voice.

"My arm," he choked, still staring at the stump.

Madam Pomfrey's face softened a little, and she cleared her throat. "The majority of it has been disposed of. Professor Snape requested that I retain a small amount of the potion for his study."

Harry jerked his head to look at her, anger flashing in his eyes. _"For his study?"_

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "He wants to see if he can come up with something to counteract it…"

At that moment, the infirmary door opened and Professor Snape strode in, his robes whipping around him.

"Awake, I see," he said in a neutral voice. "Pardon my interruption, but I have come to collect the potion."

Madam Pomfrey gestured at her office. "It's encased in a Aerial Prison Charm, and it's on my desk."

Snape walked the length of the hospital wing and entered Madam Pomfrey's office. Harry could hear him utter a charm, and then he emerged, levitating what looked like a cyan-colored sphere the size of a large marble.

"That's what it looks like?" Harry asked, staring at the seemingly harmless potion. He had recovered from his bout of rage, realizing that Professor Snape didn't want the same accident to happen twice.

"By itself, yes. That is it's natural color. It is enclosed in a charm that forces all of it together into the smallest amount of space possible, and keeps it airborne, so it does not touch anything," Madam Pomfrey said, watching the sphere closely.

"You'll be interested to know, Potter, that you have invented a potion the potency of which is unheard of in the history of this planet, Muggle or wizarding," Snape said with a wry twist to his mouth.

"Yeah, and I get to benefit from it," Harry said, glancing again at the stump of his arm.

"Tell me, Potter, when you read on the Famous Witches and Wizard Cards about those who discovered something, did they usually come out unscathed?" Snape asked, the twist to his lip becoming more pronounced.

Harry thought about the witch who discovered gillyweed and nearly suffocated, and a wizard who had eaten Venomous Tentacula and had permanently turned purple…

"No, sir," Harry admitted.

"Well, although I wouldn't get my hopes up on gaining yourself a Famous Witches and Wizards card, I do recommend that you come up with a name for this concoction," Snape said, gesturing at the potion with his free hand, still keeping his wand trained on it. "That is your obligation, as you discovered it."

With that, Snape swept from the infirmary, closing the door behind him.

Harry looked again at the stump of his arm, and gritting his teeth, lifted it. He discovered, to his surprise, that he could still feel the fingers of his left hand, and the movement of his wrist, and the flexing of the muscles of his forearm…

"I can still feel the arm!" Harry said.

"That is called Phantom Limb Syndrome. A person who has lost a limb feels recurring pain as though it is still there, but…" Madam Pomfrey began to explain.

"No, that's not it! I can feel the arm as if I still have it! Without any pain!" Harry said, now moving the stump more freely.

"Really?" Madam Pomfrey said, her curiosity piqued. "I suppose that has to do with the manner in which you lost your arm. What you are describing has also never been recorded before."

Harry waved his hand in front of the stump, but felt nothing. He sighed.

"I can't feel that."

"Well, naturally not, as your arm isn't really there," Madam Pomfrey said.

Harry was suddenly hit with a dreadful thought.

"Who knows about…this?" he asked, gesturing at the stump.

"Myself, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape, at the moment. I imagine that the headmaster will inform Professor McGonagall, as well. None of the students have been told."

Harry swallowed hard. _Hermione and Ron didn't know._

He looked at Madam Pomfrey. "Can I go?"

"Not yet. I want at least a day of bed rest to recover from the operation, and you will spend it here." She summoned a long-sleeved dressing gown from the end of the infirmary. She placed it at the foot of his bed and drew the curtains around him.

"Put it on, Mr. Potter."

He drew himself out of the bed, feeling distinctly lopsided. It felt very odd having the sensation of his arm and it yet not being there. He undid the buttons on his robes (or what was left, as the left sleeve had been magically severed), and using his right hand pulled them off. He then pulled the dressing gown over his head with his right hand, and wiggled the stump into the sleeve without much difficulty.

"All right."

Madam Pomfrey pulled the curtains back as Harry climbed back into bed.

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley have been asking after you. I will permit them to come and see you, if you wish," she said.

Harry again swallowed. _They were his friends. They deserved to know._

"Okay," Harry mumbled. Madam Pomfrey walked down the infirmary and out the door, no doubt going to get them.

Harry leaned back, thinking. _He had no left arm._ What did this mean about Quidditch, and about other things that required two hands? He looked at the bedside table where his wand was sitting. He reached over and grasped it with his right hand. Red and gold sparks flew from it, same as the day when he had first received it in Diagon Alley. He placed the wand back on the table. He thought about how Ron and Hermione would react when they found out…

Using his teeth, Harry pulled the right sleeve of the dressing gown over his hand. That way, they wouldn't suspect if they couldn't see either hand. He had no sooner propped himself up then the door to infirmary slammed open and Hermione and Ron came running through.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said, already in tears. She threw herself on his neck, hugging him tightly. Harry grimaced.

"I'm okay, Hermione," he said. She let go of his neck and sat on the left side of his bed, while Ron sat on the bed next to Harry's on the left side.

"Madam Pomfrey said you had to stay the night," Ron said, searching Harry's face.

"Yeah, and she doesn't trust me to do it back in the dorm," Harry grumbled.

"How's your arm?" Hermione asked, putting her arm out to grasp it. Harry attempted to pull back, but Hermione was too fast. Her hand closed on an empty sleeve where his forearm should have been.

Her eyes widened as she looked again at the sleeve, and the fact it was deflated halfway down.

"Oh my…" Hermione whispered.

"What is it, Hermione?" Ron asked, not having seen what she had.

She looked into Harry's bright green eyes, fresh tears standing in hers. She reached out and grasped his upper left arm and pulled the sleeve up to reveal the smooth skin of the stump that had been an arm. Harry made no move to stop her, looking away as she pulled the sleeve back.

"Bloody hell…" Ron breathed, his eyes widening and his face turning to shock as he realized the truth. Hermione covered her mouth to stop the sobs coming from her.

"Harry—mate…" Ron stuttered, still gawking at the remainder of Harry's left arm.

"She said it was the only way to save my life," Harry said, trying to keep the tears out of his own eyes.

"There must have been another way!" Hermione sobbed, on the verge of bawling. In as a controlled voice that Harry could muster, he told them what Madam Pomfrey had said, and what Professor Snape had also said. By the time he was finished, Hermione _was _bawling.

"Snape's got what's left in the Potions dungeon," Harry said as unemotionally as he could.

"So, did you come up with a name for your potion?" Ron blurted as soon as Harry was finished talking.

"Ron!" Hermione said indignantly, her crying suddenly abated.

"No, it's okay, Hermione," Harry said. He sighed. "I hadn't thought about it, Ron."

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, realizing his tactlessness.

Just then, the infirmary doors swung open again (they had magically shut themselves) and all three of them looked around to see who it was.

It was Albus Dumbledore.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

"Good evening."

Professor Dumbledore strode over to three teenagers, and sat on the bed to Harry's right. He surveyed Harry over his spectacles.

"I hope that you are not angry with me, Harry, for approving the amputation of your arm. I realized that you would not have wanted it, and would have held out for a different solution, but your life was threatened, and I was forced to decide for you," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes sad.

Harry looked right into Dumbledore's eyes. "You're right when you say that I would not have wanted it. But thank you anyway."

Dumbledore met Harry's gaze. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry looked away, down at the stump of an arm.

"Professor Dumbledore, couldn't Harry have a magical prosthetic?" Hermione asked, hope in her voice.

Dumbledore sighed and passed his hand over his eyes. "Alas, the magic worked by Harry's potion is too complete. Madam Pomfrey tested to see if a magical prosthetic was possible, but it did not adhere."

Harry sat miserably, pondering over the predicament that he was in. Then a thought crossed his mind.

"Professor, Madam Pomfrey said that she couldn't clean the wound because the potion was too deeply embedded," Harry said.

"Correct," Dumbledore replied.

"Well, why was Professor Snape able to vanish the potion off the ceiling and the table?"

Professor Dumbledore again sighed. "It was Professor Snape who made us aware of the fact that the potion could not be cleaned with a spell. Professor Snape dismissed the class and took you to the hospital wing. On his return, the table where you had been working had been eaten in two, your cauldron was gone, as well as your bag and it's contents, and there was a growing hole in the floor and ceiling where the table was. Cleaning only removed the excess, slowing the process. The potion, as you are aware, reproduces as it reacts. It reproduced itself in his absence, and proceeded to worsen the damage. He had to magically remove the portions of the ceiling and floor where the potion was working and destroy the table that you worked at. It was this that gave us our only solution to _your_ predicament."

"What about growing an arm back, though? Magically, I mean," Ron said. "Charlie's had fingers re-grown loads of times, working with dragons and all."

"Harry's entire forearm is, alas, far too big an appendage to magically re-grow," Dumbledore said wearily.

The three teenagers sat in silence, trying to reconcile the damage that was done.

Dumbledore stood. "Harry, Professor Snape is currently researching your potion. He has already submitted a request to the Ministry of Magic that your potion be registered. You, as the inventor, need to name it. I will bid you good night. Come along, Ron, Hermione."

They stood, Harry giving Hermione a brief hug, and gripping Ron's hand tightly. They both solemnly exited, with Dumbledore bringing up the rear.

Harry sank back onto his pillows, sighing deeply. He removed his glasses and placed them next to his wand. He closed his eyes, trying to remember happier days.

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning, well-rested. He sat up in bed, and then the world came crashing down again as he realized that it was _not_ a bad dream. Harry mournfully grasped the stump of an arm. He groaned, then rolled out of bed. He awkwardly removed the dressing gown, and spying a cloak that Madam Pomfrey had left him where his robes had been, fastened it around his shoulders. He would stop by Gryffindor Tower before going down to breakfast.

He put on his glasses, and picked up his wand. Tucking it into his robes, he squared his shoulders and marched out the doors of the infirmary.

Harry's cloak concealed his stump, so he passed through the corridors of Hogwarts relatively unmolested. However, as he passed people, he heard them whispering.

"_Destroyed the Potions dungeon!"_

"_I heard that he melted Snape's face off…"_

"—_doesn't look hurt to me."_

"—_all night in the infirmary!"_

"He wasn't at yesterday's Quidditch match…" 

The Quidditch match! He'd forgotten all about it. He made a mental note to ask Ron what had happened.

He reached Gryffindor tower, and gave the Fat Lady the password ("Kniggit!") and climbed through the portrait hole. There were many people in the common room, Lavender and Parvati by the window, the Creevey brothers in front of the fire, and Dean and Seamus about to leave. Before anyone could accost him, he mounted the stairs to the boy's dormitories, and practically slammed the door to the sixth year's room shut. He turned around and found Neville Longbottom still in the room.

"All right, Harry?" Neville asked, just finishing getting dressed.

"Erm…yeah, Nev, I'm fine," Harry said. He opened his trunk with his right hand, being careful not to let the cloak slip off his left shoulder.

"You looked a mess yesterday. Did Madam Pomfrey fix up your arm?" Neville asked, leaning against his four-poster.

Harry froze. _The Gryffindors and Slytherins knew that his arm had been splashed with the potion._ He turned to look at Neville. Neville stared back, concern written on his face. Why did Harry feel the need to lie about his personal suffering so often? Harry was tired of keeping secrets from everybody. He grimly reached across his chest and pushed the cloak off of his left shoulder.

Neville screamed and jumped back, banging his head on the top of his four-poster.

"Harry, your arm…!" Neville cried, pointing.

"I know, Nev. Keep your voice down. There was nothing else that could be done," Harry said flatly.

"I just…that is—didn't ever expect…" Neville stuttered, still gaping openly at Harry's left arm.

"Don't worry about it, Nev. Just go on down to breakfast. I'm going to get changed and be down in a minute myself," Harry said, removing a sleeveless shirt from his trunk. He walked over to his wardrobe, rooting through it for a new set of robes. He heard Neville behind him walk to the door and exit. Harry realized just as he was pulling his robes out of the wardrobe that it was Saturday, and that he needn't wear robes. He abandoned the wardrobe, and removed the shirt he had been wearing. He pulled the sleeveless shirt over his head, clumsily shrugging it into place. He still hadn't entirely gotten used to having less weight on the one side of his body. That, and the sensation of still having a left arm, and the disorienting experience of not having it encounter anything.

Harry pulled some jeans on and grabbed the cloak from where he had flung it on his four-poster. He re-clasped it one-handed, again making sure that it covered his left shoulder thoroughly. He wanted to be able to make it to the Great Hall without being stopped and asked.

He made his way back down the stairs and dashed across the common room and out the portrait hole. He resumed a normal walk as he descended the stairs to the entrance hall.

Harry could still hear the murmurs and whispers as he passed, but he strode determinedly into the Great Hall, scanning the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione were near the staff table, where only Professor Flitwick, Snape, and Madam Pince were seated. Harry walked the length of the Great Hall, continuing to ignore the whispers in the background. He seated himself across from Ron and Hermione, facing the Hufflepuff table.

"Morning," Harry said, reaching for some sausage.

"Morning," Ron replied. Hermione still seemed at a loss for words from last night.

Harry knew that as he ate, his stump would be somewhat visible to only Ron and Hermione, but no one else. But then a thought struck his brain like lightning.

_He had just told Neville._

He quickly jerked his head around, looking down the table where Neville was speaking in a whisper to Lavender, who was seated across from him. Harry watched her eyes go wide and her hand fly to her mouth. _Great…_

Lavender leaned over and began whispering into Parvati's ear. Harry groaned. _There goes that idea_.

He resumed eating, somewhat miserably.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I showed Neville my arm," Harry whispered. Ron's head whipped around, looking down the table at Neville, who was now whispering into Dean's ear.

Harry now heard murmurs coming from the Ravenclaw table behind him, and turning, he saw that other girls were having reactions similar to Lavender's. _Here we go…_

Harry grabbed some toast, placed it on his plate, and began to butter it one-handed, which was difficult, as the toast kept skittering across his plate. He finally gave up and began to eat it, taking note that the amount of noise at the Hufflepuff table had also increased. _Not good…_

Harry drained his pumpkin juice and stood up to go. He turned and bumped into…Draco Malfoy. He smirked and grabbed Harry's cloak, throwing it off his shoulder.

A collective gasp went up in the Great Hall, except for the groans of Ron and Hermione.

"So, Potter, can't even make a simple potion, but on top of that, you melt your own _arm_ off. That is the most pathetic—"

Harry felt it was the only thing that would do him justice. He leaned back and swung the stump of his arm around, connecting solidly. Draco Malfoy hit the floor like a ton of bricks.

"You…" Malfoy picked himself up off the floor, and took a step towards Harry, malice written all over his face.

A shadow cast itself across them. "That is enough," Snape said, glowering at Malfoy.

"Sir! Potter…" Malfoy began to object.

"Mr. Potter has already been punished for his mistake. You, Mr. Malfoy, have just been punished for yours," Snape said with a slight smirk on his face as he glanced at the red mark on Malfoy's right cheek.

Harry's jaw dropped. _Snape was sticking up for him?_ Harry wondered if someone had put a Congeniality Charm on him. He would have thought that McGonagall would teach Divination than Snape actually defend him.

"Return to your table, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said smoothly. Malfoy glared at Harry, then stomped off toward Slytherin table.

"Follow me, Mr. Potter," Snape said, sweeping from the Great Hall. Harry jerked his cloak back into place, and followed Snape out.

Harry trailed along behind Snape, following him down to the dungeons. What was Snape planning?

They entered the Potions classroom, and Harry was astonished to see the gaping crater in the floor and the eroded ceiling.

Snape moved past the tables and pulling his wand out, pointed it at the door to his office, muttering something Harry couldn't hear. The door swung open, and Snape gestured for Harry to follow him. Harry timidly poked his head into Snape's office, then stepped into it.

It was as he remembered from last year, but Harry's focus centered on the small cyan orb hovering on one of the shelves.

"Have a seat, Mr. Potter," Snape said, pointing at a chair in front of his desk. Harry grimaced as he sat down. What did Snape have in store for him?

Snape sat down behind his desk, and pulled a small sheet of parchment from one his drawers. It was a form bearing the seal of the Ministry of Magic. Harry read the title stamped across the top. '_Submission form for experimental potion.'_

Harry read down it; the form asked for the method of making it, who discovered it, and the name given for the potion. He looked up at Snape.

"I don't remember how to make it," Harry admitted.

Snape gave a sneer. "I expected nothing less. That is why this is here." Snape gestured at an object sitting on the end of his desk.

It was Dumbledore's Pensieve.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

Harry stared at the Pensieve, and for the first time he noticed the runes around the bowl; they were Nordic.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"What?" Snape growled, his eyes studying Harry carefully.

"What do the runes say? On the Pensieve, I mean," Harry said, meeting Snape's gaze.

Snape studied Harry's face, then moved over to where the Pensieve sat. He picked it up, running a finger along the runes as he read.

"_We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world,"_ Snape recited.

_With our thoughts, we make the world._ Harry thought that Professor Snape was a less-than-likable person. Could it be that with everyone thinking this, it had indeed made him so? That if he were to give Snape the chance to really show who he was, that also would change the way Harry thought, and in doing so affect the world around him? What if Snape thought ill of Harry, and that in turn intensified the enmity between them. If he were to give Snape the opportunity to see him in a new light, wouldn't that change things as well? Harry pondered this, then looked up to meet Snape's eyes.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, carefully gauging Snape's reaction.

Snape seemed slightly taken aback. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Thank you for what?" he asked, clearly dubious of what Harry was saying.

"Thank you for saving my life, sir. That makes twice, with the Quidditch match in my first year," Harry still watching Snape's face.

Snape's face softened ever so slightly, then immediately switched back to suspicion again.

"Who told you about the Quidditch match?" he asked.

Harry frowned. "Quirrell. He said that he had been jinxing my broom, and that he would have gotten me off it if it hadn't been for you and your counter-curse." Harry grimaced. "I thought that you had been jinxing my broom. I'm sorry."

Now Snape's expression changed to one of masked surprise. Harry had thanked him, and apologized for thinking ill of him all in the same meeting.

"Forgiven," Snape said shortly, not betraying any other emotion on his face.

Now it was Harry's turn to register surprise. Snape had said something _nice_ to Harry: the first time ever.

_All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world._

What a truth, Harry thought to himself. He pulled out his wand.

"What do I do?" Harry asked.

Snape looked at him, then at the Pensieve. "You fix the memory of yesterday's Potion class in your head, then place your wand to your temple. If you are concentrating hard enough upon it, it will affix itself to your wand, enabling you to place it in the Pensieve. You will find that it requires similar concentration required to produce a Patronus."

Harry nodded, placing his wand to his temple. He concentrated as hard as he possibly could upon the memory of that Potions class, of his mind wandering, and of the botched potion…

He slowly pulled his wand away from his temple, and a silver gossamer strand came away, fixed to his wand and to his temple. He pulled it farther away, his wand hovering over the Pensieve. He gave a sharp tug on his wand, and the gossamer strand broke from his temple and fell, slowly, ponderously, into the Pensieve.

"Excellent," Snape said, with a slight trace of—was it admiration? He picked up a stopwatch and his wand from his desk. "After you, Mr. Potter."

Harry took a deep breath, and placed his wand in the Pensieve, stirring the contents. A picture of the Potions dungeon rose to the surface. Harry bent over, placing his nose in contact with the semi-liquid materiel that was Harry's thoughts.

The office lurched, and Harry tumbled head over heels into the Pensieve. He landed on his bottom, and threw out his arm and stump to prevent his head banging into the stone floor of his memory.

Snape suddenly dropped down through the ceiling of the dungeon, landing on his feet. He saw Harry sprawled on the floor. He offered his left hand, then glancing briefly at Harry's stump, offered his right hand instead.

Harry gave a smile in spite of himself, and took Snape's hand, hauling himself to his feet.

They were at the back of the dungeon. They both worked their way around to the table where Harry was just unpacking his potions text.

Snape took his wand and drew in the air. Fiery letters were left behind as he scrawled in insubstantial atmosphere.

_Directions._

Harry gave another small smile. Snape was taking notes.

Harry walked around to the front of the desk and leaned on his right arm, watching himself work. Harry had to admit even he didn't look totally there; it was somewhat obvious that he was daydreaming.

That's how all the other famous witches and wizards discovered what they did: daydreaming, Harry thought to himself.

He continued to watch, and Snape continued in his note-taking. He was being far more meticulous than Harry had ever been in his note-taking, but then again, this was for the record.

Snape gave a slight sneer as he continued to take notes, clicking the stopwatch every now and again to get the simmering times.

"What?" Harry asked, seeing the look on Snape's face.

Snape looked at him for a brief moment. "You have no idea how far and away you were from what you were _supposed_ to be making," he said with a disdainful scowl curling his lip.

Harry laughed. "I believe it. Even I have to admit I wasn't paying any attention, now that I see the look on my face. I can't blame you for telling me I'm hopeless, if that's what you see every time I try and make a potion."

Snape's scowl turning briefly into a _smile_, before he fixed his face and concentrated again on taking notes.

_It's a start,_ thought Harry.

Harry looked back at the memory-Harry, who was glancing at his watch. Oh, no, he thought. Here it comes…

The memory-Harry cast a brief glance at his potions text, then sifted through the things in front of him, coming up with a vial of beige-colored powder.

"Stand back! This is it!" Harry said, back-pedaling from the table. Snape likewise leapt away from the memory-Harry as he opened the vial and tipped the contents into his cauldron…

The potion exploded violently, spraying the dungeon and Harry, as he threw up his left arm to protect himself. Harry watched in morbid fascination as the dangerous concoction went to work, dissolving, eroding, corroding, _destroying…_

Finally, the bloody mess that was Harry's arm threatened to make the real Harry lose his breakfast.

"Can we go now?" asked Harry, clenching his teeth together.

Snape glanced briefly at him, then waved his wand at the long list of directions that were burning in mid-air. They vanished, and a parchment appeared in their place, floating where the words had been. Snape reached forth a hand, and grasping the parchment, gestured upward.

Harry nodded, thinking of how he would like to leave his memory, and he felt himself rising upward, Snape next to him…

They flipped over backwards out of the Pensieve, landing again in Snape's office.

Snape dusted his robes off briefly, then unrolled the parchment he had created.

"Well, Potter, it's no wonder your potion did what it did; there's about six ingredients on here that I wouldn't mix with each other even by themselves, and you threw them all in together…" Snape said, perusing the list.

"Incentive for me to pay better attention in class, huh?" said Harry, looking down at the stump of his left arm.

Snape looked up at him, his face unreadable. "Have you decided on a name for it?"

Harry glanced at the potion sitting on Snape's shelf. The sphere reminded him of a tear, suspended in mid-air, and yet Harry knew the power behind that seemingly innocuous potion…

"Devil's Tears Potion."

"Excuse me?" Snape said.

Harry turned to look at him. "Devil's Tears Potion. That's it's name."

Snape surveyed Harry's face, his own still unreadable. "Write it in." He slid the parchment and a quill and ink across the desk for Harry. Harry saw that the directions had been magically transposed onto the parchment. He took the quill and wrote under the inventor name, 'Harry Potter.' Under the name of the potion, he wrote, 'Devil's Tears Potion.'

Snape took the parchment from him. "I will have to concoct it to be sure my directions are accurate, then we can submit it. I suggest you some back in—" Snape checked the directions again briefly, "—half an hour. I should be ready to add the final ingredient by then."

Harry nodded, and pulling the cloak over his shoulders again, he left Snape's office.

* * *

A/N: The words around the rim of the Pensieve are taken from a larger passage that comes from Buddhism.

We are what we think.  
All that we are arises with our thoughts.  
With our thoughts we make the world.  
Speak or act with an impure mind  
And trouble will follow you  
As the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart.  
We are what we think.  
All that we are arises with our thoughts.  
With our thoughts we make the world.  
Speak or act with a pure mind  
And happiness will follow you  
As your shadow, unshakeable.

Although I don't follow Buddhism, I liked this passage and agree with it, so I put in an excerpt.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

Harry slowly trudged across the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's hut. He felt he needed some time with his oldest friend.

As he slowly made his way across the grounds, he thought about his spat with Malfoy in the Great Hall. Why had Snape stuck up for him, and even more interesting, why was he down on Malfoy? He didn't know much about how Snape felt about Draco, but thought that he generally held Slytherins above the other students. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Snape had helped contribute to the capture of Lucius Malfoy, by alerting Dumbledore and the Order to Harry's predicament and sending them to the Department of Mysteries…was it because of a hatred of Draco Malfoy's father?

Still pondering Snape's puzzling actions, Harry climbed the short steps to the door of Hagrid's hut, and knocked three times.

The door was flung open, and the enormous form of Hagrid beamed down at him.

"Harry! How are yeh? Just get back from breakfast, eh? C'mon in. Jus' made a pot o' tea!" Hagrid turned and clumped into his cabin, and Harry trailed along behind him.

Hagrid put the jar-sized teacups on the table, and carefully removed the teapot from the fire.

"Heard that yeh made a splash in Potions yesterday, Harry," Hagrid said as he sat down and made the hut lurch.

"Yeah," Harry croaked, then sipped the tea. It felt oddly comforting, being in Hagrid's company alone.

"Did Madam Pomfrey fix yer arm, then? Heard that yeh messed it up bad."

Harry sighed as he removed the cloak from his shoulders. Hagrid choked on his tea that he had been sipping.

"Wha' the…Harry! Yer arm…it's…"

"Gone?" Harry supplied.

"Well, yeah, but I figured yeh'd get it fixed or summat…"

"It is fixed. This was the only way to save my life, according to Madam Pomfrey."

Hagrid looked slightly shaken, then gulped the remainder of his tea.

"Well, if Madam Pomfrey says tha's the only way it'd be made righ', then tha's that."

Harry stared up at Hagrid with bleary eyes. "You really think that?"

Hagrid placed an enormous hand on Harry's left shoulder. "Madam Pomfrey's the best tha' there is, Harry. If she said tha's the only way to save yer life, she wasn' lyin'. She's got no reason ter lie ter yeh, Harry. And she'd never do anythin' withou' Dumbledore's say-so."

Harry was jolted by Hagrid's statement. "How'd you know that?"

"How'd I know what?" Hagrid asked.

"That she'd asked Dumbledore to…do this," Harry said, gesturing at his arm.

Hagrid sighed. "Because tha's the way it _is_, Harry. She'd not be doin' it without approval, what with yer godfather gone and all…"

Harry bowed his head. "Yeah, I suppose."

Hagrid gripped Harry's shoulder tighter, making Harry sure that he would break it. "I'm not accusin' yeh of anythin', Harry. Sirius' death wasn' yer fault. Yeh've got to move on, as hard at that seems…" Hagrid sniffled, and Harry remembered everything that Hagrid had ever lost, and that he had sacrificed, and Hagrid's selflessness through it all.

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, pulling him into a fierce hug. Hagrid snuffled a little, saying, "Yeh'll do all righ', Harry. Yeh'll do all righ'."

* * *

Harry returned to the Potions dungeon a little before lunch, and knocked on the door to Snape's office.

"Enter," came the reply to the knock. Harry pushed open the door and walked in, closing the door with his foot.

Snape was bent over the cauldron sitting on the bench on the far wall of his office.

"Come in, Mr. Potter. Don't lurk in the doorway," Snape said in a slightly condescending tone.

Harry walked over, and looked into the cauldron. The potion was a dull green.

"Professor, what about the adding the last ingredient? It'll explode, and it'll melt the cauldron," Harry said, shying away from the potion.

Snape's lip curled in a superior manner. "It exploded because you added too much spleenwort."

Harry was confused. "I don't understand…how could you possibly know that without having tried it once before?"

Snape seemed rather pleased that Harry didn't have any idea what he was talking about. "Listen closely, Potter, I don't want to have to repeat myself. This is a seventh-year Potions topic known as reactants. There are some absolutes within Potions; that is, there are some ingredients that you can be assured will always cause a reaction within a potion when they are mixed, regardless of what other ingredients you may have added. No one ingredient is a reactant; rather, two ingredients together form a reactant. Whenever they are combined, regardless of what was added before or between them, there will be a reaction. In the case of your potion, the reactant was ground pearl of a siren and extract of spleenwort. Do you understand?"

Harry was still confused. "Sir, I understand the bit about reactants, but that still doesn't explain how you know that I added _too much_ spleenwort."

Snape gave a "hmph!" of disdain. "If you had paid any attention in class, you would know that amounts matter in Potions. In the case of siren's pearl and spleenwort, there is a proportional mix between them, much like the combination of Muggle sodium and water. A small amount of sodium introduced into water will cause only a mild reaction. However, use the same amount of water and triple the amount of sodium, and the reaction will have been multiplied exponentially."

Harry was beginning to get the concept that Snape was trying to explain to him. "So how much spleenwort would have been needed to cause the reaction?"

Snape's expression became that of twisted irony. "A grain."

Harry was again confused. "But the explosion would have covered the Potions dungeon if the reaction were multiplied like you said. Why was it so small?"

Snape looked irritated at Harry's inability to realize the obvious. "Because the two ingredients fully reacted with each other before the rest of the spleenwort was absorbed. The excess was dissolved by the resulting potion."

Harry paused, working through what Snape had said. He was actually making sense of what Snape was telling him, which Harry supposed was mostly due to the fact that he had never paid attention before.

Snape looked satisfied that Harry had no other questions. "Getting back to your earlier question, Potter, the potion will not melt the cauldron. I have cast an Impervious Charm on the cauldron. The potion is not actually touching the cauldron, just very close to it. Close enough to conduct heat, at any rate."

Snape turned back to the cauldron, and picked up a small vial of spleenwort. He popped the cork out, and poured a tiny amount onto a bit of parchment. Using his wand, he separated a single grain from the deposit, and dropped it into the cauldron.

The potion instantly roiled and bubbled within the cauldron, and thickening slightly. Snape pulled back from the workbench, waiting for the reaction to stop. He checked the stopwatch, carefully measuring the time. Harry could see him mouthing, _three, two one…_

The bubbling abruptly stopped, the room going quiet. Snape extinguished the flames beneath the cauldron, and both Snape and Harry cautiously inched forward to peer into the cauldron.

The potion inside was a bright cyan.

Snape carefully poured the spleenwort back into it's vial, and replaced the cork. He then took the parchment in his hand and placed it on the table next to the cauldron. He levitated it with his wand, turning it in mid-air so a corner was downward. He dipped the corner into the potion, then brought it back out. The parchment was quickly eroding, and in a matter of seconds, the rest of the parchment had dissolved into nothing.

"Devil's Tears Potion," Harry said with a bitter edge to his voice, looking at the stump of his left arm.

Snape looked at Harry with an unreadable expression, and pointing his wand at the cauldron, vanished the potion with a wave of his wand.

"I shall submit the form to the Ministry of Magic as soon as…"

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "Do you still have it?"

Snape pointed wordlessly to his desk. The form was exactly where Harry had left it.

Harry strode over and picked up the quill. Next to 'Harry Potter' on the inventor's line, he wrote, 'Severus Snape.'

"There. Now it's ready," Harry said, handing it to Snape, who glanced at it, then looked up at Harry.

"Why?" he asked, clearly suspicious of Harry's motives.

"You deserve to take credit as much as I do, as you retrieved how to make it, and you researched it, and you understood it enough to even fix it," Harry said, wondering how Snape would react.

Snape looked back down at the form, then wordlessly folded the parchment. A Ministry of Magic wax seal appeared where Snape folded it, and Snape handed it to Harry.

"Take this to the Owlery," was all that Snape said.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, amazed at how easily he and Snape had gone from mortal enemies to speaking terms in a matter of two days.

"What about the extra precautions to take?" Harry asked.

"I added them on. They will know to use the Impervious charm before concocting it," Snape said.

Harry nodded as he tucked the parchment into his robes, and tugging the cloak about his shoulders again, he left the office.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

Harry trudged up the steps to the Owlery, and pushed open the door. The smell of bird droppings met him nose, and he crinkled his nose. He looked up into the rafters, but couldn't find Hedwig.

"Hedwig?" Harry called.

A snowy owl detached itself from the uppermost rafters and floated down. Harry automatically stuck out his left arm for Hedwig, then realized his error. Hedwig missed her supposed landing spot (his forearm) and flapped her wings for a moment before settling on the stump.

"Sorry, Hedwig," Harry said. She nuzzled her head against Harry's cheek, giving a soft hoot.

"I've got something for you to deliver," Harry said, stroking her with his right hand. Hedwig stuck out her leg, and Harry fished into his robes for the parchment. As he pulled it out, he realized that he wouldn't be able to tie it to Hedwig's leg.

"Hedwig, you're going to have to carry it in your beak. I can't tie it to your leg," Harry said. Hedwig looked at him reproachfully, as though it were an inconvenience. However, she took the proffered parchment in her beak.

"Take it to the Ministry of Magic, okay?" Harry asked. Hedwig gave a muffled hoot. She took off with the parchment in her beak, sailing out the window and into the sky.

Harry watched her disappear into the afternoon sky, thinking about the past two days as he absentmindedly rubbed his hand over the end of the stump. Unlike pictures that Harry had seen of Muggle amputations healing, the skin over the end of the stump was perfectly smooth, blending in perfectly with the rest of his arm.

He thought back to what he had been thinking in the Potions dungeon yesterday. Couldn't anything have been done to prevent this?

_It was your own fault,_ a voice in his mind told him. Harry grimaced inwardly. As much as he hated to admit it, this was entirely his own fault, and it only made it worse knowing that Snape jumped on him regularly because of his habit of daydreaming in Potions class.

However, there was no guilt as Harry slowly came to accept the consequences of his inattentiveness. Unlike the guilt that he felt over the death of Cedric and Sirius, Harry found that he came to terms much easier with his mistake in the Potions dungeon. Perhaps it was because he felt that his error had already been paid for, as Snape had said in the Great Hall. Thinking of that encounter with Malfoy again, a smile crept across Harry's lips. _Snape had stood up for Harry!_ It wasn't anything Harry would have ever expected to happen in his lifetime, and yet now, Snape's attitude toward Harry was improving, and Harry's biased view of the Potions master was slowly changing as well.

_With our thoughts, we make the world._

The words of the Pensieve echoed again in the vault of Harry's mind. He could almost feel the burden of his amputation lift from his shoulders as he accepted it.

Harry put his right hand down, springing up on his hand to help him stand. He tugged the cloak back over his shoulders, and walked over to the door. He had just put his hand out to open it when it burst open, and Harry collided with Ron, who was slightly out of breath. Harry stumbled back a step before regaining his balance. Hermione stood behind Ron, equally breathless, as if they had both run to the Owlery.

"Uh...hey, Harry," Ron said, his tone deceptively innocent.

"What up with you two, then? You both look like you've run a marathon," Harry said, glancing at Hermione's disheveled hair and Ron's red face.

"Erm…just—sending an owl," Ron said, holding up a letter.

"To who?" Harry asked.

"Mum. It's been awhile since I wrote to her," Ron said, nervously shifting his feet.

Harry looked back and forth between them, taking in the slightly guilty looks on their faces. He decided to take a guess.

"You used the Marauder's Map to find me, didn't you?" Harry said, watching Ron's face in particular.

The guilty look deepened, and Ron looked at the ground, mumbling something under his breath.

"What's that, Ron?" Harry asked, a smile creeping across his face.

"Wanted to talk alone," Ron muttered, talking to his shoelaces.

Harry looked away from Ron, and fixed his gaze on Hermione. She had an earnest, pleading look in her eyes.

"Mail your letter, Ron," Harry said. "Let's go someplace else to talk."

Ron nodded, seeming to relax a little. He picked one of the school owls, and tying his letter to it's leg, sent it flying out the window.

"Come on," Harry said, walking down the steps.

"Where are we going, Harry?" Hermione asked, the first thing he had heard her say all day.

"The Room of Requirement. Not many people know about it," Harry said, reaching the entrance hall and ascending the Grand Staircase.

They walked down the hall where the Room of Requirement was. Harry thought about being in a place where the three of them could talk alone, where no one would interrupt…

After walking past the area where the room was for the third time, a door with a golden handle appeared. Harry grasped it and pushed the door open.

The inside looked almost exactly like the Gryffindor common room, but without the Gryffindor hangings. The same comfy couch and armchairs were there, and a roaring fire in the grate. Harry unclasped his cloak and hung it on a peg by the door, and picked an armchair by the fire to settle into.

Ron sprawled onto the couch, and Hermione took an armchair across from Harry.

"So?" Harry asked, leaning back, stroking the end of his stump again.

"Erm…" Ron said, looking awkward.

Harry sighed. This was one of those, 'Don't blame yourself' talks.

"What did you write in the letter to your Mum?" Harry asked.

Ron shifted on the couch. "Just asked how Dad was doing at work, how our Quidditch has been doing…" Ron hesitated.

"Anything about this?" Harry asked, lifting his left arm.

"Not really. Only that you'd had an accident in Potions and hurt your arm," Ron said.

"Yeah, in a big way," Harry replied.

"Harry, it's not your…" Hermione started to say.

"Look, guys, I'm not eating myself up about this, okay? It's over and done with, and I'm just going to have to get used to it. I'm _fine_," Harry insisted, attempting to bypass a lot of needless conversation.

"Well, Harry, it's just that…" Ron tried to put what he wanted to say into words. "You know, this means that you'll have some trouble doing some…things…"

"Ron, _it's okay_. I can still play Quidditch, I think. I've just got to spend a little time learning to fly one-handed, that's all," Harry said. "Speaking of which, how did we do in yesterday's Quidditch match?"

"Ginny played Seeker in your place. Our Chasers were terrible, but I managed to keep Ravenclaw from scoring, and Ginny caught the Snitch, so it was one-fifty to nothing," Ron said.

"Well, that's something, anyway," Harry said, reassured the Gryffindor wasn't out of the running for the Quidditch Cup yet.

"There is one more thing, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry looked at her. Her face was grim, but her eyes were sparkling.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"I know of a spell to help you. It's Transfiguration, done wandless, but…" she hesitated.

"What's it called?" Harry asked.

"The Third Arm Transfiguration. The name pretty much speaks for itself. It's really similar to Pettigrew's silver hand; in fact, it's practically the same thing. But…" she hesitated again.

"What is it, Hermione? But what?" Harry pressed.

"It's Dark Magic," she whispered, almost under her breath.

Harry sat back to consider that. "Why is it Dark Magic?" he wondered out loud.

"Because of it's power. The arm has supernatural strength. You could crush stone into powder," Hermione said.

Harry thought about it. "Why couldn't you use that to fix this, then?" Harry asked her, indicating his left arm.

"Because it's self-induced, unlike what Voldemort did for Pettigrew," Hermione said. Ron flinched at the mention of Voldemort's name. "Plus, this spell can be used by people who already have two arms. The spell that Voldemort used is only for those who have lost a limb or something."

"So why didn't Madam Pomfrey do what Voldemort did, then?"

"Well, first off, it's Dark Magic, so I don't even think it crossed her mind, and second, it uses the same principle as a magical prosthetic—it wouldn't adhere to your…" she choked slightly, "…arm."

"Well, then, why couldn't I cast the Third Arm Transfiguration once and leave it?" Harry asked.

"Because you have to concentrate on maintaining the spell. It's a lot like the Animagus Transfiguration in terms of difficulty."

Harry swallowed. It didn't sound easy. "So what happens when you cast the spell?"

"Well, you can do one of two things. You have to concentrate on where the arm appears. It can overlay one of your existing arms…" she nodded at his stump, "…or you can make a third arm that works in tandem with your existing limbs," Hermione said.

Harry, sat back in the armchair, pondering. It sounded a bit dodgy, a spell that gave him an arm that was so empowered. He didn't know how McGonagall or Dumbledore would react to him possessing the knowledge or ability to do such a thing.

"How do you do it?" Harry asked, still thinking.

Hermione took a deep breath. "You have to concentrate on the image of it, a silver, metallic arm, and also imagine the power of the arm, and will it into being."

"So there's no incantation?" Harry asked.

"No. That makes it a little harder, as an incantation serves as a release of the will for many wizards. It would take time to learn, Harry. But…"

"Hang on a minute, you two. First of all, it's lunch, and I think that Harry should okay it with Dumbledore or someone first," Ron said, looking pointedly at Harry.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "Let's go down to lunch. I'm starving."

Hermione still had that earnest look in her eyes as they rose and exited. Harry only realized just as he reached the doors to the Great Hall that he had forgotten his cloak in the Room of Requirement.

He groaned inwardly as he stepped into the Great Hall. The normal talking that was usually heard around lunchtime abruptly ceased, and murmuring broke out.

"_Do you see that?" _

"_I heard Snape did that to him…"_

"_Pomfrey couldn't fix that?"_

"_I'd commit suicide before I let that happen to me…" _

Harry grimly marched down the length of the Gryffindor table, seating himself to the right of Ginny. Hermione and Ron again sat down across from him.

"Harry…are you all right?" Ginny asked, a look of concern on her face.

"I'm fine, Ginny, don't worry about me," Harry said, giving her a brief smile before piling some ham and potatoes on his plate.

"Everyone's saying that you had an accident in Potions, and that Snape…" Ginny began, talking very fast.

"Ginny. Not right now, please? I did this to myself, and if it weren't for Snape, I wouldn't be alive. That's all you need to know for now," Harry said a bit abruptly.

Ginny's face closed up, but she nodded and returned to her own lunch. Harry hastily shoveled down his own meal, intent on getting his cloak back. He drained his goblet of pumpkin juice after a piece of strawberry rhubarb pie, and stood up.

"I'll meet you in Gryffindor tower. I'm going to get my cloak back," he told Hermione and Ron.

Harry walked quickly out of the hall and practically ran up the stairs to the Room of Requirement. He concentrated on the room they were in before, and the wooden door appeared in the wall after he passed it for the third time.

He pushed the door open and walked in. The room was different in one way—there was a book on the armchair that Hermione had been sitting in. Harry walked over and picked it up.

_Dark Arts and Transfiguration: How To Make It Work For You._

The Third Arm Transfiguration. What had Hermione said about conjuring the arm?

"_You have to concentrate on the image of it, a silver, metallic arm, and also imagine the power of the arm, and will it into being."_

Harry thought about that, and then flexed the fingers of his phantom left arm. It was an unusual thing to close his eyes and have the sensation of having his left arm, even that of the fingers touching each other, but not have them exist.

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of his ghost arm. He imagined it encased in a silver shield, the metal molding to his "skin." He bent all his mind upon imagining the kind of power, the rush of adrenaline at being able to crush something to dust…

Harry overlaid the image of the arm and it's power onto himself, being able to conjure the image rather easily, after glimpsing himself in the Pensieve earlier that day. He concentrated so hard that he broke out in a sweat, then willed it to happen, but he felt nothing happen, only the blood pounding in his ears. Harry remembered Hermione's words…

"…_an incantation serves as a release of the will for many wizards…"_

There was no incantation that summoned the spell, but all Harry really needed was a way to release his concentration…

He summoned that image again, bending his consciousness upon it. He was literally shaking with the effort. His eyes flew open, and he cried, "NOW!"

A shocking sensation lit up Harry's brain like fire, startling him. He lost his focus, and the feeling ceased. Harry stood grasping his stump, breathing heavily. For a split second, he had felt something almost like scalding water at his left shoulder, trickling down his arm…

Harry collapsed onto the couch, completely drained. He vaguely remembered that he had told Ron and Hermione he would meet them in Gryffindor Tower, but the thought lost importance as weariness overtook Harry, and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

"Harry Potter, sir?"

"Go 'way…" Harry mumbled, turning over.

"Harry Potter must wake up, sir!"

"Huh…?" he groaned.

"It is Dobby, sir! Harry Potter has missed dinner!"

Harry's mind finally woke up. "Dinner? I've missed it? But that would mean I've slept for…" he checked his watch, "…eight hours!"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Wheezy is telling Dobby that you was missing…"

"Huh? Ron?" Harry finally gathered the strength to sit up. He rubbed his eyes. He looked down at the small elf, decked out in a knitted sweater and one of Hermione's knitted caps. He had what looked to be badly shrunken denims on, complete with mismatched socks.

"When did you see Ron?" Harry asked.

"He is visiting the kitchens, sir. He tells Dobby that you had gone to get your cloak, sir. Dobby offers to come and get Harry Potter, and I finds you here, sir."

The elf glanced briefly at Harry's stump.

"Dobby is sad for Harry Potter's sake. Dobby comes to get Harry Potter's robes from the hospital wing, and Dobby sees Madam Pomfrey standing over Harry Potter…" the elf gave an odd choking and gagging noise. Harry realized that Dobby had popped in as Madam Pomfrey was in the process of amputating Harry's ruined arm.

"I'm fine, Dobby. I just came here to get my cloak and…fell asleep," Harry finished half-heartedly. How many people fell asleep to take eight-hour naps?

"Dobby is glad that Harry Potter is not hurt, sir. Dobby must return to the kitchens; there is cleaning to do," the elf gazed up at him with tennis ball eyes, his bat-like ears sticking out from underneath cap.

"I'll probably come down in a minute, Dobby. Let me just grab my cloak," Harry said, standing and stretching.

"I will have something waiting for you, sir!" Dobby said with a smile. With that, he disappeared with a _crack!_

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about his attempt at the Third Arm Transfiguration. He had just barely managed it, but hadn't really finished the transfiguration, and he had passed out from the effort. Hermione wasn't kidding; it was tough.

He closed his eyes, envisioning the silver arm attached to him, the strength pulsing through it, concentrating fiercely upon it. He envisioned himself, with the stump, and let the image of the Harry with the silver arm flow onto the image of the Harry with the stump, bending his mind upon bringing them together smoothly.

Again, a shocking sensation permeated Harry's nerves, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep the mental image locked in his brain. He opened his eyes as he felt something like lava begin to flow from his left shoulder and down his arm. He looked to see a mirror-like sheen forming over the stump, continuing down slowly, rolling down his arm like silver molasses…

He gasped and fell to his knees, out of breath. The silver receded, traveling back up his stump and growing smaller and smaller on his shoulder, until it simply disappeared. It felt extremely hot, the silver. Harry groaned and got to his feet.

"Better than your first try, I must admit, Harry."

Harry about had a heart attack. He spun around to see Albus Dumbledore, standing in the corner, his eyes slowly surveying Harry.

"Professor! I didn't…"

"…see me here? I have told you before, Harry, I don't need a cloak to become invisible." Dumbledore looked at him very sternly.

"Do you know what it is that you are attempting, Harry?" he asked.

Harry looked back at him. "The Third Arm Transfiguration."

"And do you know what it is, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, still giving him a piercing stare.

Harry looked down at the floor. "Dark Magic, sir."

Dumbledore looked at Harry over his spectacles. "Are you aware of the destructive potential of the Third Arm Transfiguration, Harry?"

Harry was still speaking to the floor. "Yes, sir." He looked up at Dumbledore. "I wanted to see if I could do it…if it would work…"

Dumbledore's face took on a slightly amused look. "You wondered if you could perform a transfiguration like this? You, who mastered the Patronus Charm at thirteen, learned the Summoning Charm overnight, and are head of your class in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" He made it sound like a joke.

"Harry, I admit that I am concerned about letting you perform this transfiguration. Dark Magic is named thus because of the history of it's use. However, I am willing to believe that you will use it responsibly. I myself have even used Dark Magic on occasion. I think that you have proven yourself to be an honest, self-disciplined person. Please do not make me regret my decision." He gave a pause. "Your grade in transfiguration may improve if you can handle something like the Third Arm Transfiguration. We shall have to see." He gave a small smile. "I'd suggest practicing fixing the image of yourself in your mind for as long a time as you can before your mind wanders. I believe it will aid you in concentrating better." With that, he winked at Harry and left.

Harry sighed, and walked to the door, picking his cloak off the peg as he left. The book that Harry had found lay forgotten on the hearth rug, where Harry had dropped it.

* * *

Harry reached up, tickling the pear on the portrait. It giggled, squirming, and morphed into a handle, which Harry grabbed and twisted, swinging the portrait outward.

"Harry Potter, sir! Dobby has food for you, sir!"

Harry grinned as Dobby, followed closely by six other elves, teetered toward him. They were laden down with what looked like enough food to feed all three Dursleys to the bursting point. Harry quickly sat at a small table near the door to the kitchens, pulling himself a chair. The plates of turkey and gravy, stuffing, corn on the cob, with pumpkin juice, Yorkshire pudding and pomegranates. Harry couldn't help but smile at the elves looking up at him, waiting to be told what to do.

"Thanks to all of you. I can handle it from here."

The elves all scurried away, except for Dobby, who stayed standing by Harry's chair, scuffing his little foot on the floor.

Harry slowly ate, thinking about what Dumbledore had said. He admitted that even he would be loathe to allow someone to use a transfiguration like the Third Arm Transfiguration. Harry could literally take apart the castle if he lost his temper. However, it would be a great asset to him in Quidditch, and also eating, he realized, as he hopelessly chased his food around with his fork, trying to get it to sit on top of the tines.

Harry also remembered Dumbledore saying that even he had used Dark Magic. _When and why did Dumbledore use Dark Magic?_ He thought that Dumbledore would vehemently denounce anything like that, but apparently Dumbledore was not above taking drastic measures. Then again, Dumbledore said that spells were classified as Dark Magic because of the history of their use, or abuse, Harry mused. So even some Dark Magic could be used in a good cause, if taken seriously.

Harry shoveled down the last bite of pie, and stood up.

"Thanks, Dobby, and the rest of you lot. Good cooking," he said, smiling. The elves all beamed up at him, as two immediately magicked the empty dishes into the air and over the other elves' heads.

"I'll see you later, Dobby," Harry said, swinging the portrait out. He climbed out, and it swung closed behind him. He began to trudge up the stairs towards Gryffindor tower.

He was on a landing leading to the sixth floor when he rounded a corner and collided with a red-haired someone. They both went sprawling in a tangle of limbs and grunts.

"Oy, what's the big idea?" Harry said irritably, attempting to pick himself up.

"That's friendly," came Ron's muffled voice from being pressed into the floor.

"Oh, sorry, Ron," Harry apologized quickly, rolling off and allowing him to stand up. Hermione was right behind him, giggling to herself.

"What's so funny?" Harry said, getting his feet under him so he could stand up.

"That's the second time you've literally run into each other today," she said through suppressed laughter.

"Ha ha," Harry said, smoothing his cloak. "What are you two up to, then? Come to find me?"

"Yeah! Where in the world were you, Harry? We were worried sick, and we couldn't find you. Plus, the Room of Requirement was gone, and we finally had to get Dobby to go and get you out," Hermione said, going from amused to irate.

"The door disappeared because I was sleeping, and didn't want to be disturbed," Harry said, having already figured this out for himself. He had remembered Dobby saying he had hidden Winky there when she was drunk, and Harry presumed that the magic of the room had done the same for him.

"Sleeping? For _eight hours?_ Come on, Harry, you can't expect us to believe that…" Ron said, clearly in disbelief.

"All right, Ron Weasley, then what was I doing for the past eight hours?" Harry asked with a bite of impatience in his voice.

"You were practicing that transfiguration Hermione mentioned, that's what I think," Ron said, looking straight at Harry. Harry must have given a guilty look, because his mouth twisted into a superior smile.

"Well, you were right that I tried the transfiguration, Ron, but I was telling the truth. I tried it once, and I fell asleep because I was exhausted after the first try," Harry corrected him in as neutral a tone as he could manage.

"_One try?_ You fell asleep from exhaustion after _one try?_" Ron asked.

"It's not easy, Ron. I had only just started the transfiguration when I lost my focus. My second try was only marginally better," Harry said, then bit his tongue.

"_Your second try?_ Harry, you can't just use a transfiguration like that in Hogwarts! What would Dumbledore say?" Ron said, an accusatory edge to his voice.

"Ron, get a grip. Let's go back to the common room, where we're not in danger of being overheard," Hermione said, jumping into the heated discussion.

Harry realized that they had been carrying on in rather loud voices. He turned on his heel and climbed the steps, still a little angry with Ron for jumping down his throat. What right did he have to accuse Harry of…

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He needed to keep a cool head. Getting wound up wouldn't lead to anything good. The arguments from last year had taught him that.

They reached the portrait hole, and after Hermione gave the password, they all climbed in. Harry picked a table in the corner, far enough away from everyone else that he could whisper without having to worry about anyone eavesdropping.

Ron threw himself into the chair across from Harry. Hermione sat to Harry's left, settling into the chair with an apprehensive look on her face as she looked back and forth between Ron and Harry. Finally she settled her gaze back on Harry.

"How far did you get into the transfiguration, Harry? What was it like?" she asked, a poorly concealed curiosity in her voice.

"Well, I did just what you said. I fixed an image of the silver arm in my mind, then I imagined the arm on me. The first time, though, I couldn't really find a way to start the spell. To release my will, I mean. Anyway, I thought about what you had said about incantations serving as a release of the will for many wizards, even though most spells require them. So I basically fixed that image in my brain and thought about it as hard as I could, then said, 'Now.'"

Hermione was staring at him with a rapt expression on her face. "So what happened?" she said anxiously.

"At first, I felt a really weird sensation, like scalding water pouring down my arm from my shoulder. That's when I lost it the first try. The second try, I managed to keep my concentration. It was like my arm was slowly being covered in silver. The transfiguration moves kind of slow, and I actually watched it move from my shoulder down to the end of my arm. That's when I lost it the second time." He paused for a moment. "It doesn't really look like silver, to tell the truth. It looks closer to a mirror, or the chrome Muggles put on their cars."

"Did you pass out the second time?" Hermione asked. Harry noticed that Ron was sitting with his arms folded, an extremely disapproving look on his face.

"No, actually. I didn't feel that tired the second time. I didn't have to say anything to get the transfiguration started the second time, either," Harry recalled.

"And what about the consequences, eh? What's going to happen when Dumbledore or McGonagall finds out that you've been doing Dark Magic?" Ron interjected, the accusation still in his tone.

Harry reminded himself not to retort, and looked straight at Ron. "Dumbledore said I could, Ron."

Ron looked like he'd been hit in the stomach with a bag of bricks. "What? When did he say that?" he asked, his accusation robbed of its target.

"Right after I tried for the second time. He was in the Room of Requirement with me, but I didn't know it until after I'd tried again. He was hiding, or something. I didn't see him. How he stayed invisible, I don't know," Harry admitted.

"And he just said, 'Right-o, not a problem, I don't mind'?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Actually, he said that he'd let me use it on the condition I didn't abuse it. I gathered that he was sort of going out on a limb for me," Harry told him. "Er…no pun intended."

Ron slumped in his chair, a defeated look on his face. "It figures Dumbledore would make an exception for you…"

"Cut it out, Ron. If there's anyone who would benefit from the use of the Third Arm Transfiguration, it's Harry," Hermione said in a snippy tone. "Don't start in on the whole 'Harry's the special one' argument. Who's the prefect here?"

Ron had the good grace to look abashed, and mumbled an apology.

"So, Harry," Hermione said, turning back to him, "can I…see you try it?"

"Now wait a minute! I don't think…" Ron said in an alarmed tone of voice.

"Ron! Will you _please_ stop? Harry's not going to be turned into a monster if he uses the transfiguration. _Calm down,_" Hermione said, exasperation dripping from her voice. She looked back at Harry, a hopeful look in her eyes.

"Please, Harry? It'd be fascinating to watch," Hermione asked, practically pleading with him.

Harry frowned slightly. "Hermione, if you're that desperate, why don't you give it a try?"

Hermione's face flushed, and she dropped her gaze to the table, mumbling something under her breath.

"What's that?" Harry asked, leaning in so he could hear her.

"_I couldn't even get it started,"_ she whispered in the smallest of voices. So she had tried, Harry thought to himself. Why would Hermione want to use such a Transfiguration? Then again, Harry felt sorry for her, knowing her zeal for excelling. Failing to even produce the beginning of a spell would not have had a good impact on Hermione. But why couldn't Hermione do something he could? She had always been able to do anything that he could manage. In many cases, she could do more. Harry took in the ashamed look on Hermione's face.

"Sorry, Hermione. I didn't know that," Harry said. He leaned against the table. "I guess I could try again. Try not to do or say anything, though. I have a hard enough time focusing as it is."

Harry pulled back the cloak from his left shoulder as Hermione practically dragged Ron's chair (with him still in it) in front of the table, so that the other Gryffindors wouldn't be able to see Harry, or what he was doing.

Harry stared at the table, fixing that image of himself with a metallic arm into his mind. He imagined the thrill of power that the transfiguration offered, and imagined himself flowing into the image in his mind.

He watched his arm carefully as a uncomfortably hot sensation started at his shoulder. A small patch of silver materialized on his arm. Harry fought to keep the mental picture rooted in his mind as the mirror-like substance engulfed his entire shoulder, circling around it, coming to just above his armpit. It slowly began to flow down his arm like syrup, the silver expanding.

Hermione's eyes were wide, and Ron's mouth was hanging open as the silver continued down, oozing over Harry's skin. Finally, it wrapped around the end of the arm, forming a silver-enclosed stump of Harry's arm. Then, like a snake rearing its head, the silver _extended_ itself, coalescing into an elbow, then a complete joint…

Harry gasped, his mental stamina drained. He collapsed forward onto the table, his right elbow resting on the edge, as well as the silver left elbow. However, the chrome limb began to dissolve, and the elbow slowly melted away, until the end of the stump was resting on the table. Ron and Hermione continued to watch as the silver moved back up Harry's arm, shrinking back into the small patch that it started as, and then disappearing into nothing.

"Wow, Harry," Hermione breathed. "That was your _third try?_ This transfiguration is on the level with the Patronus charm, even harder, maybe. And you've gotten that far after only _three tries?_"

"Still can't get it finished, though," Harry said weakly, attempting to gather his wits.

"I know, Harry, but _really…_" she said, clearly in awe.

"I think that it might be a good idea for me to go to bed now," Harry said, beginning to feel tired and sleepy.

"Come on, Harry. I'll help you up the stairs," Ron said, quickly standing and positioning himself on Harry's right side. He pulled Harry to his feet, putting Harry's arm across his shoulders (Ron had to stoop to do this, as he was a good six inches taller than Harry). He helped Harry hobble across the common room, to the curious stares of many, then up the stairs to the dorms. Hermione followed until they reached the stairs to the boy's dorms.

"Good night, Harry. That's really amazing progress you've made in only one day after three tries," she said again, turning and going down the short hall to the door leading to the girls dorms.

Ron practically dragged Harry up to the sixth years' dorm, as Harry was fading fast. Ron sat him on his bed, and barely after kicking his shoes and socks off and throwing his cloak on his trunk and his glassed on his bedside table, he collapsed onto his pillows, falling fast asleep without even changing into his pajamas.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

Harry awoke the next morning, slowly opening his eyes and sitting up. He groaned as he realized that he had fallen asleep in his jeans and sleeveless shirt. He rolled out of bed, taking note that everyone was still in their beds, and they were all wide awake, sitting up in bed, staring at him.

"What?" Harry asked, grabbing his glasses.

"Oh…nothing," Seamus said in a unconvincing voice.

Harry shrugged, not up to extracting information. "Fine. I'm going to take a shower." He walked out onto the landing, padding down the steps to the landing that led to the showers. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, as it was standing slightly open. There was the sound of running water, and Harry saw through the steam that someone was bent over a sink, splashing their face with the water. Harry quickly ducked into the shower room, poking his head out as he heard the sink turn off. It was Colin Creevey, and Harry was immediately thankful he had avoided being seen. The very last thing he wanted was to be pestered over his arm again.

Harry heard the bathroom door shut, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He emerged from the showers, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it onto a bench. He pulled off his jeans, folding them quickly and placing them next to his shirt.

He turned to go back to the showers, but stopped briefly as he passed a mirror hanging over a sink. He put his face up close to it, really studying for the first time the stump of his left arm. The end was perfectly rounded and without blemish, or hair, even. Harry ran his hand over the end, getting a very disorienting experience as he felt his hand pass through an arm that was seemingly there. It still caught Harry off-guard, the phantom arm being there.

_Wait a minute,_ thought Harry. He could still feel his left arm, unlike everyone else who had had an amputation. Harry wondered if the silver arm would be able to feel anything, or if it would be a dead limb, not experiencing any sensation whatsoever.

Harry tried to remember if he had felt anything yesterday when he had placed the silver elbow on the table to support himself. Try as he might, Harry couldn't recall any sensation. He supposed that he had be so wholly focused on maintaining his concentration that it wouldn't have registered even if he had felt anything. Maybe he wasn't used enough to not being able to feel a left elbow anymore that he had dismissed it as a regular thing.

Harry sighed and walked into the showers, removing his drawers and deftly flipping them onto his other clothing. He kept his glasses on, though. He didn't like not being able to see very well when he was showering. That, and the episode with Moaning Myrtle in the prefect's bathroom in his fourth year had stuck with him too well. He imagined that if he had been wearing his glasses, maybe he would have noticed Myrtle long before he had gotten into the bathtub.

Harry turned on the hot water, stepping under the spray. He enjoyed taking warm showers, even in the summertime. It helped him to think.

Harry wondered to himself whether or not the silver arm was susceptible to water. However, he quickly dismissed the idea, as it would be foolish to think that so powerful a transfiguration would render the user helpless against even the slightest downpour.

Harry also wondered how the silver blended with the rest of the skin on his body when he performed the transfiguration. He admitted to himself that he hadn't been paying that close attention to the details. Then that thought struck him again, like a mental double-take.

_Attention to detail._

He hadn't been very meticulous in his study of how the arm actually looked when it was forming because of his concentration on maintaining it. He concentrated on the image of himself with the silver arm, making sure to keep the image the same as his other attempts. As soon as he had the image fixed in his mind's eye, he let himself flow into that image.

This time, he watched carefully as the silver dot appeared on his arm, no bigger than a freckle. It slowly encircled his arm, flowing together on the underside of the arm. He could still feel the unusually hot sensation even through the shower water spraying his skin.

He carefully observed (while still fighting to maintain his concentration) that the silver was not a film that enclosed his arm, covering his skin; rather, it _was_ his skin, being turned into the material. _Yeah, stupid, that's why it's transfiguration,_ a voice in the back of his head told him. Up to that point, he had envisioned a silver shield about his arm, rather than the mutation of his very skin.

Harry also saw that the silver blended with the rest of his skin in a most interesting way. It lost its metallic sheen as it moved up to the top of his shoulder, so it was merely a dull grey. It then slowly faded into the flesh-colored skin of his collarbone. The transition from the silver to his skin occupied less than an inch of space.

Harry erased the image from his mind, halting the process. The silver hadn't gotten very far, only about halfway down the stump. Harry considered the image that he was procuring in his mind. He wondered what adding details to the image would do. He started with a picture of his left arm as it used to be: pink and slightly toned from Quidditch. He imagined the hairs on his arm, and even attempted to visualize the miniscule crevices of the skin of his arm, and the fingerprints on his hand.

He began to let himself flow into that image, but he lost hold of the details as the burning sensation began again at his shoulder. Slowly, with his eyes closed and concentrating as hard as he could, he added the discreet transition from the skin of his body to the silver at his shoulder. To Harry's amazement (he almost lost his focus), he felt the burning silver actually _cool_ slightly, so that it was merely the temperature of hot dish water.

Harry continued to focus, and added with painstaking attention to detail the hair of his left arm. The silver again dropped in temperature. Harry erased the image from his mind, attempting to preserve his mental stamina. He was astonished to see that the silver had worked all the way to the elbow, the same point where he had collapsed just yesterday. He resolved to finish his shower, then go back to the Room of Requirement to practice some more. Breakfast didn't even cross his mind.

He hurriedly finished scrubbing himself, then twisted the shower knob off. He grabbed a towel off the rack at the far end of the shower room, and dried himself as quickly as he could. He wrapped the towel around his waist, and grabbing his clothes, dashed up to his dorm.

Thankfully, Dean, Seamus, Ron and Neville were all gone when Harry returned. He only spared their whereabouts half a thought before yanking some drawers and socks out of his trunk. He pulled them on awkwardly (it was hard putting socks on one-handed) and grabbed a pair of shorts out of his wardrobe. He also grabbed his other sleeveless shirt (he only had two, although he was thinking about converting a few of his hand-me-downs into sleeveless shirts as well). He got dressed as quick as he could, and picking up his cloak as he ran past, flew out the door, down the stairs, across the common room and out the door.

* * *

Harry slammed the door to the Room of Requirement shut behind him. The room had changed, since Harry had instead wanted a private, quiet room to practice the Third Arm Transfiguration. Harry stopped and stared.

It was his bedroom at the Dursley's.

Harry walked over to his bed, running a hand over the bedposts at the foot, and surveyed the dresser and closet. It was all the same, except for one thing. There was a book sitting on Harry's pillow. He picked it up, and read the title.

_Dark Arts and Transfiguration: How To Make It Work For You._

It was the same exact book that had been in the room before, when Harry had returned to it to get his cloak back. He sat down on his bed as he flipped it open, and turned to the index. The Third Arm Transfiguration was on page 237. He turned there, his eyes roving over other spells as he turned the pages. Then he forced himself to close his eyes.

_I am not going to learn any more Dark Magic than I need to._

He opened his eyes, fixing them on the page number as he resumed turning the pages backward. When he reached page 237, he looked at the picture. It was a rather muscular wizard driving his fist through a pillar, then actually taking hold of the stone and breaking off a piece in his hand. Harry couldn't tell if the arm was supposed to be silver, but the picture entailed a strength far beyond that of any normal human.

He read down the page, reading the description. Most of what Hermione was here, about how to conjure the arm. Harry scanned down farther. His eyes lit upon the subtitle, 'Spell Attributes.' He read the small paragraph.

_The conjured arm has a strength that is unsurpassed by even the strongest animal on the face of the earth. It is capable of crushing stone, metal, wood, and Muggle plastic alike. It is not vulnerable to any physical damage whatsoever, but may be affected by strong enough curses (namely, the Killing Curse). It offers no resistance to the Killing Curse; however, any other spell will be reflected. A spell of higher potency may be absorbed, causing the transfiguration to be cancelled. In this case, the spell must be re-instated by the caster._

_The transfiguration lasts only as long as the caster wishes it to or is able to concentrate upon it. There are unconfirmed suspicions that the spell becomes much easier to manage as the attention to detail increases._

Harry smiled to himself. They obviously hadn't done their homework, or else they would have known it was true. He continued to read.

_The Third Arm Transfiguration renders the arm impervious to any fire, water, and chemical damage (including potions). It is invulnerable to the most extreme temperatures, from a vacuum to the heat of a star. The arm cannot be crushed, bent, or broken in any manner. Any violence sustained to the arm during its transfiguration will have no aftereffect after the spell is removed. This protection extends only to the areas of the arm covered by the transfiguration._

So, Harry thought. It was an invincible arm, with the exception of the Killing Curse. Stronger spells would cancel it, but Harry estimated it would take a very powerful charm to cancel the transfiguration. It would be great for dueling as well, Harry realized. Something that couldn't be affected by most charms and curses would be valuable indeed.

Harry closed the book, sitting on his bed. He looked around at picture frames of his friends, and his eyes lit upon the photo album that Hagrid had given him. He realized that being in his bedroom offered too much nostalgia for him to be able to concentrate. The moment that the thought entered his mind, the bed disappeared out from underneath him, and the room turned to white fog. Harry flailed as hung suspended in the middle of white clouds, nothing supporting him. Suddenly, there was a floor beneath his feet, and a room around him. It was the room that Dumbledore's Army had used last year. Harry grinned. This was much better.

He sat on a comfortable pouf, thinking about the image of himself with the silver arm. What would make it a more complete and detailed image? He remembered that he had noticed the silver was actually his skin morphing into the silver, and added that to the image, not really changing the outward appearance of the mental picture, but the realization was there.

Harry also realized that he hadn't really incorporated any details into the hand. He pictured the fingernails, the creases on the palm of his hand, the individual fingerprints. Harry didn't really know what the fingerprints of his left hand looked like, so he simply conjured the presence of fingerprints, not actually sculpting them. He was struggling to maintain this highly detailed image, sweat beginning to form on his brow. He blanked his mind, attempting to perfect the illusion before he attempted the transfiguration again.

As he was resting, the words Dumbledore had spoken yesterday bubbled to the surface of his mind.

_"I'd suggest practicing fixing the image of yourself in your mind for as long a time as you can before your mind wanders. I believe it will aid you in concentrating better."_

That was it! He could build his mental stamina that way! Harry leaned back in his pouf, thinking about the image with all its details. He closed his eyes, letting it occupy his entire brain, shutting out all other thoughts. For several hours, Harry sat there, concentrating on the image as hard as he could, then resting when his mind began to wander. It was close to lunch time when Harry's concentration was interrupted by the loud growling of his stomach.

_I should really get something to eat,_ Harry thought. No sooner had it flashed through his mind then a table loaded with sandwiches and a large jug of pumpkin juice materialized in the middle of the room. Harry began to think that a Room of Requirement should be an opportunity that every wizarding architect should offer.

He sat down at the table, eating the sandwiches ravenously. As he ate, he contemplated the progress that he had made in the space of one and a half days.

He picked up the transfiguration book (it had materialized with the table) and flipped it open to the page of the Third Arm Transfiguration. He re-read the information, perusing it carefully. His eyes stopped when he got to a certain passage.

_The Third Arm Transfiguration renders the arm impervious to any fire, water, and chemical damage (including potions)._

Did that mean that he could handle the Devil's Tears Potion safely? Was he capable of touching the potion without any harm to himself? He couldn't think of a safe way to find out, short of dipping the arm into the potion. That idea didn't appeal too much to him.

He gobbled down the sandwich he was eating and stood. He stuck his book under his arm and went back over to the pouf he had been sitting in. He sat down, and after making himself comfortable, he resumed concentrating on the image. He found that he could hold the image in his mind for quite a long time. It was much easier to hold the details in place, and he could practically feel the strength of the transfiguration. He released his being into the image.

This time, there was no burning sensation. In fact, Harry realized that the silver that was slowly encircling his arm made practically no sensation whatsoever, except for a extremely slight tingling, electric buzz that ran down his arm with the metallic substance.

Harry's focus was undiminished as the silver reached the end of the stump, and enclosed it entirely. The silver then pushed out beyond the stump, forming the elbow and continuing on. Harry's concentration was beginning to slightly strain, but Harry kept the image firmly in mind. The silver continued to coalesce, traveling down and shaping into a forearm. It was like watching a mold of his arm slowly fill with a metallic substance, Harry decided. He tried moving his arm, and found that the phantom sensation of his left arm paralleled this chrome arm. Harry watched as the silver came to the wrist, then broadened into the base of a hand. It continued to morph, and the silver extended into fingers, and then his thumb.

The shaping suddenly halted, the silver stopping and becoming quite still. Harry's concentration was starting to wane, so Harry looked at the arm closely while he could still keep the image of the arm firmly locked in his mind. There were individual silver hairs on the arm, and Harry could even see the miniature crevices in his skin, added in by his attention to detail.

Harry' mental image began to dissolve, and he desperately bent his will on maintaining the image and on maintaining the arm, but he found himself instead thinking of his failed attempts, and the silver receding…

Harry realized that as he battled to re-establish the image of the arm in his mind, it was not fading as it had before. Harry stopped his mental exertions and forced himself to relax, but still keeping his will bent on maintaining the silver arm. It remained as it was.

Harry suddenly had an epiphany. He only needed to concentrate on the image to _establish_ the arm; after that, he just needed to will it to remain there. Harry realized that this little side note had not been included in the book on transfiguration. _Maybe I should write an article and give a hands-on point of view,_ Harry thought. He stood up, flexing the chrome-colored arm. His fist closed, and he could see the muscles stand out as he clenched his fist. He reached out with his other hand and touched the arm. It felt quite odd, as the arm was warm, like it was really skin, and he even could feel the creases in his hand as he ran his fingers over his palm. However, it was a metallic feel, and when Harry dug his fingernails in and ran them down his arm, a screech was produced that gave Harry gooseflesh. He noted that everything felt normal to the left arm.

Harry picked up the book that he had put on the floor next to the pouf. He closed his fist on the binding as hard as he could, and was thoroughly startled when it collapsed with a shocking sound, his fingers going through the cover and most of the pages. He admitted that he had been trying to get something to happen to it, but he supposed to himself he really had not anticipated such a result. The piece of the binding he had closed his fist on had been crushed paper-thin.

He discarded the book, wishing he had not destroyed it. Then he had to remind himself that he had vowed not to learn any other Dark Magic, so it was probably better that the book was gone.

_It's just the history of its use that makes a spell Dark Magic,_ a voice said in the back of his mind. Harry told himself that he would not just go randomly trying Dark Magic, but not necessarily research it.

Harry draped his cloak about his shoulders, and willed the arm to disappear. He watched the silver fade away, soon disappearing into his shoulder again. He thought about what he should do now that he had gotten the hang of the transfiguration. He realized that he should probably let Dumbledore know about his success, and perhaps Ron and Hermione. Harry didn't know the password to Dumbledore's study, however. He thought about how he might get in, then remembered that Dumbledore's walls were lined with the pictures of previous Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses. He thought to himself, _I wish there were a picture of Headmaster Dippet in here,_ and sure enough, an empty picture materialized on the wall. There was just a chair in the picture, but nobody sitting in it. Then, a white-bearded man walked into the picture, looking around at it.

"Oh my, didn't know this was here. How in the world…?" Then he spied Harry. "Ah, Harry Potter! Is this your doing?" he asked, gesturing at the chair behind him.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "I wondered if I might have a word with Professor Dumbledore in his study."

"And how are you aware that the headmaster is in his study?" Dippet asked, a suspicious look on his face. In truth, Harry hadn't known that Dumbledore was in his study, merely assumed so, as it was a Sunday afternoon.

"Just a lucky guess," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. "So, can I talk to him?"

Dippet peered at him. "I'll ask him. Wait here." He moved sideways out of view. Harry stood there, impatiently tapping his foot. It seemed like hours later when Dippet finally came back into the frame.

"He says he'll see you. Come to his study. The password's 'Canary Cream.'" Dippet had a slightly sour look on his face, as if something hadn't gone his way.

Harry didn't spare a second thought but was out the door in a flash. He ran down the corridors and pounded on the staircase until he got to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Canary Cream!" Harry said, grinning inwardly. A tribute to Fred and George, he thought. The gargoyle leapt aside, and Harry charged up the winded staircase, ignoring the fact it would have gotten him there without him running.

He reached the door to Dumbledore's study, and pushed it open.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

"Ah, Harry. Good to see you. Please, have a seat."

Dumbledore motioned Harry into a chair, and Harry sat, even though he was very excited.

"So, how's your transfiguration coming, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, correctly guessing the reason for the visit.

"I've got it down, I think," Harry said. "That bit you told me about practicing with the image in my mind really helped."

"You've managed to do the Third Arm Transfiguration already, Harry? How many attempts did you make before you completed the transfiguration?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair as though interested.

"Five," Harry said. "Although I purposely stopped on two of them, to try and refine my mental picture."

"_Five tries?"_ Dumbledore said with a trace of surprise in his voice. "Very impressive, Harry. I've not heard of anybody mastering a spell like that in so short a period of time."

"Well, I don't think I've mastered it, but I can do it, yeah," Harry said, wishing to clarify.

"Of course, Harry. Would you like to show me?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry stood up and pulled his cloak from his left shoulder. He quickly recalled the image he had placed hours of concentration into, and let himself flow into it again.

The silver appeared and grew, blossoming from his shoulder, running down the stump and extending past it. The process only took about fifteen seconds, Harry realized. It seemed much longer when he was attempting to add the details during his previous tries.

He held out the arm, flexing it. He could see the reflection of the office in its surface, distorting as it followed the curvature of his arm.

Dumbledore reached out to shake Harry's left hand, but Harry pulled back.

"I'd rather not, sir. I haven't really taken the time to learn how much pressure is too much," he said, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of it before.

"I see. Well, Harry, the easiest thing to do would probably be to shake a coconut," Dumbledore said without a trace of humor.

"Excuse me, sir?" Harry said, sure that he hadn't heard right.

"Here, Harry," Dumbledore said, tossing him a coconut that had appeared from nowhere. Harry deftly caught it with his right hand.

"That is somewhat softer than a regular coconut. Squeeze it until it breaks. That will be the point at which you should temper your grip," Dumbledore instructed.

Harry transferred the coconut to his left hand, slowly closing his fist on it. He reached the tension that he would have normally shaken someone's hand at, and tightened his grip even more. Finally, just as he was beginning to exert himself, the coconut broke apart with a deafening _CRACK._ Milk spurted everywhere, and the meat from inside was squished in Harry's fist.

Dumbledore waved his wand at the mess in Harry's hand, and it vanished.

"Well, the strength of the arm doesn't really show until I exert myself," Harry said.

"Harry, this may seem silly, but I want you to know the responsibility that you've taken on. This transfiguration has enormous destructive potential. Take this," Dumbledore said. He held out an iron bar, about two inches in diameter.

Harry reached out and took it with his left hand. He turned it over, then placed it firmly in his grip. He squeezed as hard as he could, and the screech of poorly tuned musical saws filled the room as the metal _crushed_ in his palm. It also grew quite hot, but the interesting thing was that there was no pain, simply the heat.

Harry unclenched his fist, and dropped his jaw when he saw the damage.

The metal that Harry had squeezed had turned to a blackened, pitted material, and was toothpick-thin where his hand had been. Harry put the bar on the ground and placed his foot on the bar, grabbing the other end with the silver hand. It snapped in two as easily as breaking a twig.

"So now you know, Harry. This is not a charm for mere amusement. This is _dangerous._ Do not get carried away in your emotions and be tempted to use it to release your anger. The consequences could be incarcerating," Dumbledore said, jolting Harry's mind. _He could go to Azkaban if he misused this transfiguration._

"Yes, sir," Harry said, swallowing hard. He now knew what misuse of the spell entailed.

"However, Harry, do not be discouraged entirely. Damage to things such as that bar can be easily mended." Dumbledore pointed his wand at the bar.

"Reparo," he said softly, and the bar, with an unusual popping noise, expanded where Harry had crushed it and the two pieces fitted themselves together again.

Harry picked up the bar, turning it over in his hands. "So, it's around other people that I should be careful," he said to Professor Dumbledore.

"Correct, Harry. Now, I suggest that you go and enjoy the rest of the day. However, you may also want to continue practicing the charm. I believe that you will find that the more complete the image, the quicker the transfiguration," Dumbledore said.

"Professor, how is it that you know so much about this transfiguration?" Harry asked curiously.

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "I was the Transfiguration teacher here for some time, Harry, before becoming headmaster. I ought to know a thing or two about it." He winked at Harry. "Off you trot."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Professor Dumbledore." He turned and left the office, the iron bar still clutched in his silver hand.

* * *

Harry wandered back up to Gryffindor Tower, absentmindedly tossing the iron bar back and forth between his hands, a dull metallic _clank_ breaking the silence every time Harry tossed the bar into his silver hand. He was going over what Dumbledore had told him, about the danger of the transfiguration, wondering if he should even be using it.

He passed several people in the halls and on the stairs, and he could hear snippets of conversation.

"…_missing at lunch, what's wrong with him?"_

"…_repairing the Potions dungeon, Filch is furious…"_

"…_can't believe that it would happen…"_

"…_did you see that? His arm's back!"_

Harry turned at the last statement, looking behind him to see who had whispered it. It was a bunch of Ravenclaw girls, who looked back over their shoulders, saw him watching them, and hurried off. He realized that they had probably glimpsed his arm underneath the cloak, but hadn't been able to see the color, or the metallic shine.

Harry thought about using the transfiguration so openly. He definitely didn't want it to become widely known that he was using Dark Magic, and he also didn't want to be bombarded with questions about how he had mysteriously regained his arm. But it took some effort to perform the transfiguration, and Harry didn't want to have to do it over and over again during a single day…

Harry decided to do something outdoors, away from the rest of the school…but there were many students outside, where could he go?

At that very moment, Ron rounded the corner at the end of the hallway Harry was standing in, and spotted him.

"Harry! There you are. I was looking for you, wondering if you wanted to…" Ron stopped, seeing the candlelight dance off the shiny surface of Harry's skin.

"Harry, you _did_ it? You managed it already?" Ron said in an incredulous voice.

"Yeah, been practicing all morning. Took a bit out of me, too. I was just in Dumbledore's office, telling him," Harry said, jogging down the hall towards Ron. "What was it you were going to say?"

Ron seemed transfixed on the arm, and Harry had to snap his fingers in front of Ron's face to make him focus.

"What…? Oh, I was, um…going to ask you if you wanted to practice Quidditch…you know, since you said you would try to get the hang of flying one-handed…" Ron's voice trailed off as he realized that Harry didn't need the practice.

"Yeah, that'd be great!" Harry said, surprising Ron. It was the perfect place to get away from the school and just think, and he could get some flying in as well. "Are you sure there aren't any other teams practicing right now?"

"No, they're all finished for the term, the next game isn't until after the holidays," Ron said, brightening a bit. "Do you want to go get the brooms, and I'll go get the Quidditch balls from Madam Hooch?"

Harry nodded. "Sure, but just get the Quaffle and the Snitch. I don't feel like playing with Bludgers right now."

Ron turned around and jogged back down the hallway, back the way he had come. Harry continued the way he had been going, back up to Gryffindor Tower. He tugged the cloak about his shoulders as he mounted the steps to the Fat Lady's portrait, holding the iron bar in his right hand. He gave the password and walked quickly into the common room, avoiding talking to anyone as he quickly mounted the steps to the boy's dormitories. He opened the door to his room and poked his head in; there was nobody else there. He felt around underneath Ron's bed for his Cleansweep, and also grabbing his Firebolt out of his closet, he dashed back out, almost jogging out of the common room and down toward the Quidditch pitch.

Harry stepped onto the Quidditch pitch, finding Ron standing not too far away, clutching the chest that held the Quidditch balls, and looking somewhat winded.

"Ron, you didn't have to bring all of them. Just the Quaffle and the Snitch," Harry said, wondering how in the world Ron had managed to drag the heavy chest all the way down to the pitch.

"Madam Hooch said to take the whole thing. Wouldn't let me take just the two. Said I might try to steal them or something. She said that I have to bring it back, too; can't let you take it back for me," Ron wheezed, sitting down heavily on top of the chest. Steal them? Harry wondered. Who would steal Quidditch balls? Harry wondered. As he thought about it, Harry suddenly remembered his trip into Snape's memories, and the Snitch that James Potter said he had "nicked." It probably wasn't the first time one of the balls had gone missing, Harry realized, to make Madam Hooch implement the rule.

"How did you get the chest down here? I hardly believe that you carried it yourself," Harry said, handing Ron his broom and beginning to unlatch the chest.

"Levitated it," Ron said, standing up to let Harry open the chest. "But Filch caught me in the entrance hall, and tried to get for doing magic in the corridors, but it's only between classes, so he just told me I had to carry it the rest of the way." Ron had a sulky look on his face as Harry flipped the chest lid up.

Harry pulled the Snitch out and let it fly away; he'd catch it when he saw it. He grabbed the Quaffle and turned to Ron.

"Ready?"

Ron mounted his broom, and kicked off from the ground, flying towards the set of goal posts on the far end of the pitch. Harry tucked the Quaffle securely under his left arm, and also mounting his Firebolt, pushed off, gaining altitude quickly. He reminded himself to not relax his mind, otherwise the transfiguration would be canceled.

Flying right-handed was awkward for him, since he normally flew left-handed when trying to catch the Snitch, but he didn't want to risk crushing his broom handle until he'd had more experience with tempering his grip. He flew toward the goal posts, where Ron was hovering, looking determined. Harry feinted left, and then flew right, as if to score. Ron didn't move, staying in front of the center post. Harry put on a burst of speed and drew back his arm, getting ready to throw. Ron began to drift downward toward the right post, and Harry fired the Quaffle off, aiming for the center post instead.

The Quaffle left his hand at a dizzying speed, and Harry was stunned at the strength of his throw. Ron zipped back to the center post and slapped the Quaffle away, then rubbed his hands vigorously, shooting a baleful look at Harry.

"Use your other arm, why don't you?" Ron said in an irritated voice, still wringing his stinging hands.

"Don't want to risk crushing my broom!" Harry yelled as he dove after the Quaffle, scooping it up and steering his broom back up in a steep ascent. "I'll try to throw lighter this time," Harry said, taking a position away from the posts.

Ron returned to the center post, watching Harry carefully. Harry again flew toward him, this time aiming directly for the center post and gaining speed. He pulled the Quaffle out from under his arm, and cocked it back, hurling it toward the left post with what he thought was moderate strength.

The Quaffle still streaked through the air, but not as quickly as before. Ron intercepted it, hugging it to his chest as he rounded the post and flew back towards center.

"Better. I think I can handle that. Throw me a couple more at the side hoops, that's where I have the most trouble," Ron said, tossing the Quaffle back to Harry. Harry swung around, flying back to give himself room for an approach.

Harry rounded sharply, not slacking off at all, shooting back up the pitch like a falcon. He already had the Quaffle clutched in his left hand, and aimed directly for the left post again, and pulling his arm back as if to shoot.

Ron began to drift toward the left hoop, and Harry pulled his broom sharply to the right, putting on an enormous burst of speed. He flew straight past the right hoop, practically dropping the Quaffle through it.

"Not fair!" Ron yelled, diving after the Quaffle. He was a bit angry, Harry could tell, as Ron flew back up to him. He threw the Quaffle roughly at Harry.

"You know I can't compete with the speed of your broom! Make it so I can save it!" he fumed.

Harry gave him a bemused look. "If I can do that, then the next Chaser lucky enough to get a broom faster than yours can do it, too. You've got to learn to be ready for it," Harry said, tossing the Quaffle half-heartedly at the left hoop.

Ron was unprepared for Harry's weak shot, but he caught it before it went through the hoops. He returned to playing level, a sheepish look on his face.

"Sorry. I guess I've just been so confident up 'til now, I…"

"Oy! Potter!" a voice called loudly from down on the pitch. Harry swung around to see who it was.

It was Draco Malfoy, standing by the chest of Quidditch balls with a grin on his face. "Learning how to fly one-handed, are we?"

Harry realized that his cloak was covering his left arm, hiding it from Malfoy's view.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Harry yelled back, turning back to Ron, determined to ignore him.

"Seems you're not playing a real game of Quidditch, are you? Here, let me help!" Malfoy shouted, and Harry looked back just in time to see Malfoy unhinge the two Bludgers from the chest. They flew into the air and pelted directly at Harry, who was the closest.

Ron ducked out of the way, dropping the Quaffle and speeding toward the ground. Harry tried to do the same, but the Bludgers were right on top of him…

Harry pulled back as hard as he could at the last second, and the first Bludger careened underneath his broom, brushing the twigs as it sped by. Harry looked up to see the other Bludger less than ten feet away. He threw up his left arm to protect his face, bracing himself for the impact.

_CLANG_.

Harry was jolted back slightly, and he winced as the high-pitched ring resounded in his ears. He opened his eyes to see the second Bludger squirming his grasp, attempting to get free and hit Harry again. He was surprised by how weak its movement seemed, but reminded himself that the arm was extremely strong, and to it, the momentum of the Bludger would seem like stopping a housefly.

A prickling on the back of Harry's neck warned him just in time, and Harry dove suddenly as the first Bludger nearly took his head off from behind. Harry dove for the ground, the second Bludger still grasped firmly in his left hand. He raced toward Ron, who was standing by the chest of Quidditch balls, watching Harry. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

Harry landed and jumped of his broom, forcing the second Bludger back into the chest, and chaining it back down.

"Where's Malfoy?" Harry asked, straightening up.

"Dunno," said Ron, who was watching Harry with something close to apprehension. "He took off right after he let the Bludgers out. He didn't see what happened." Ron was a bit shifty, still looking at Harry oddly.

"Well, I suppose I better go get the other Bludger," Harry said, re-mounting his broom and kicking off, looking around for the other black ball. He spotted it circling one of the raised stands, and as he drew closer, the ball whizzed toward him. He slowed down and braced himself on his broom as the distance closed. Harry reached out with his left hand, and caught the Bludger with another _CLANG_ and a mild jerk. It was almost foolish how little effort he had to exert to hold onto the struggling black ball. He flew back toward the ground, landing and replacing the other Bludger in the chest. He realized it was a good thing that he hadn't tried to close his fist on the Bludger or the Quaffle while he had been handling it; Madam Hooch probably would have made Ron replace them, since he was responsible for them. He started to look above him, squinting around the pitch.

Ron was still standing next to the chest, watching Harry as he scanned the skies. "What're you doing?"

"Looking for the Snitch," Harry replied, peering about. It was starting to get dark, and Harry knew that if he didn't find it soon, they were in trouble.

Suddenly, the Snitch appeared right in front of his face, mere inches from him. Harry attempted to grab at it, before he realized that it was being held by someone's fist. He turned around to a grinning Ron, who had the Snitch in his hand, and a pleased look on his face.

"How did you…?" Harry asked, an astonished look on his face.

"It hit me on the nose when I was going for the ground. I just reached up and grabbed it as a reflex. I'd say it more found me than I found it," Ron said, scuffing the ground with his toe, a sheepish look on his face.

A grin crept across Harry's face, and he clapped Ron on the back with his right hand. "Well done, Ron. I don't recall you ever catching the Snitch before."

Ron gave another sheepish smile. "Only once before, but nobody was around, and it was almost by accident."

Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the far end of the Quidditch pitch, saying, _"Accio Quaffle!"_ The red ball soared into the air and down the pitch, straight into Harry's arms. He placed it back in the chest, and Ron put the Snitch back in its spot. Harry closed and locked it, and sat on it heavily.

"Oy, what time is it? Getting close to dinner?" Harry asked Ron; he still hadn't gotten his watch fixed.

Ron checked. "Ten minutes until, actually. You want to go back up?"

Harry sighed, standing back up. "Yeah, but hang on…" He blanked his mind, relaxing his concentration. The silver hand dissolved, receding slowly until it was gone, disappearing into the flesh of his shoulder.

"Could you carry my broom? I'll help you carry this back up to Madam Hooch's office," Harry said, gesturing at the chest.

"Yeah, no problem," Ron said, delicately taking Harry's Firebolt and shouldering it next to his. They both grabbed a handle, and hefting the chest, they started back up towards Hogwarts castle, Ron whistling off-key as they went.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

Harry and Ron dropped the chest of Quidditch balls off at Madam Hooch's office, who checked to make sure that they were all there before letting them leave. They left their broomsticks in their dormitory and went down to the Great Hall, both of their stomachs rumbling for food.

Harry made sure that his cloak was firmly around his shoulders before striding into the Great Hall after Ron. He looked down the Gryffindor table, searching for Hermione's face. He didn't see her; she was probably in the library doing homework, he thought. He followed Ron, who sat down next to Neville, while Harry sat next to Ginny, opposite them.

"All right, Harry?" Neville said, casually reaching for some pork and shooting Ginny a meaningful glance. Harry caught the look.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What's up with you?" Harry said, fixing Neville with a stare that made him squirm.

"Um…that is—rumor has it—not saying it's true…your arm's back?" Neville said, finishing as if asking a question.

Harry tried to maintain a neutral expression as he pushed his cloak aside slightly to reveal his incomplete left arm. Neville looked abashed.

"Sorry, Harry…people talking—Ravenclaw girl told me…sorry," Neville repeated lamely. He got up and moved down the table, leaving just Ginny sitting with Harry and Ron.

"So," Ginny said, continuing as if Neville's awkward question hadn't been asked, "what did you two do today?"

It was Harry and Ron's turn to exchange meaningful looks. Should Harry tell Ginny? Surely she could be trusted not to spread around that Harry was using the Third Arm Transfiguration. She was Ron's sister, after all…

"What?" Ginny said, looking back and forth between the two of them. "What're you into?"

"Erm…well, I did a bit of Snape's homework, and had lunch, and then played Quidditch with Harry until dinner," Ron said, dumping the matter entirely into Harry's lap. _Thanks a lot, Ron_, thought Harry.

Harry grabbed a pasty as he stood up, eating it and grabbing Ginny's arm and dragging her along behind him. He pushed open the door to an antechamber in the Great Hall, pulling Ginny in behind him and shutting the door.

"Harry, what…?"

"Ginny, you can't tell anyone about this," Harry said, pulling the cloak off his left shoulder.

"Harry, what are you on about?" Ginny asked, looking at him with an confused expression. "Tell anyone about what?"

Harry concentrated on his mental image, placing himself into that image. The silver sprouted from his shoulder, enveloping his bicep and trickling down his arm. Ginny's eyes widened as she watched it coalesce into an elbow, then a forearm, then a hand…

Harry held the arm out, twisting it and closing his fist.

"This is what you can't tell anyone about. Hermione told me about this transfiguration," Harry said.

Ginny stared open-mouthed at the shining limb. "Harry…what is it?"

"It's called the Third Arm Transfiguration, and it's Dark Magic," Harry said, looking pointedly at her.

She looked at Harry with a bit of skepticism in her expression. "What if Dumbledore finds out?"

"Dumbledore already knows. He actually helped me pull it off," Harry said, somewhat surprised that Ginny didn't have a strong reaction to the fact that it was Dark Magic; Ron had practically come unglued.

"Why is it Dark Magic?" Ginny asked, seeming to read Harry's mind.

"Because it's really strong," Harry said, pulling the iron bar out of his robes and holding it in his left hand. He closed his fist with all his might, and the bar crushed with a shriek. Ginny jumped slightly at the sound, then looked at the bar, which was pitted and toothpick thin, like before. Harry pulled his wand out and repaired the bar, before replacing it in his robes.

"Isn't that really dangerous around people?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, so I'm working on controlling my strength and grip, so I don't go around demolishing the castle."

Ginny reached out and touched the back of the silver hand, feeling the 'skin.' She ran a finger up his arm, then pinched the skin.

"It feels odd," she said, poking at it as if it were a dead animal. Harry held her wrist to stop her prodding him.

"You feel just the same," Harry said. "The skin is really more like a metal, but with all the texture of skin and body temperature."

Ginny looked up at him. "You can _feel?_"

Harry frowned. "Of course. It was one of the side effects of the potion. I can still feel the arm, and the transfiguration works just like a replacement of the arm, so I'm able to feel anything that's done to it."

Ginny got an impish look on her face and used her fingernails to tickle the inside of Harry's wrist. He unsuccessfully tried to stifle a giggle, and let go of Ginny's wrist.

"Cut that out," Harry said, mock shaking his finger in her face.

Ginny's expression grew serious. "What about Quidditch?"

Harry shrugged. "I can fly with the transfiguration. I practiced with Ron today to try and get the hang of it."

"Oh!" Ginny exclaimed. "You really were playing Quidditch!"

Harry frowned again. "What, did you think Ron wasn't telling the truth?"

Ginny blushed. "Well, he didn't come across as honest."

"Well, I don't know about the bit about him doing Snape's homework," Harry said with a grin, then snapped his fingers.

"Snape! I've got to talk to him tonight," Harry said, remembering that he hadn't gotten the homework from Friday.

Ginny mouth fell open. _"Snape?_ What, do you have a death wish?"

Harry grimaced. "No, but I'd rather get the homework now then lose House points for it later."

Ginny looked thoughtful. "You know, now that you mention it, Snape _has_ been acting a bit odd, lately."

Harry was surprised. "You think so? I noticed that he was being weird lately…he actually got down on Malfoy at breakfast yesterday…"

Ginny snorted. "You think that's all? He put Malfoy in _detention_ just this Thursday because he bewitched Dean's shoes to eat his feet. And that's not all; he's actually stopped taking House points from Gryffindor as amusement. I even heard he awarded five house points to Gryffindor for a second year who made his potion perfectly."

Harry was shocked. _Snape, awarding Gryffindor House points?_

"Maybe someone put something in his food," suggested Harry.

Ginny looked skeptically at Harry. "D'you think anyone could slip something past Snape?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. I'll bet something's up, though. For Snape to actually start acting fairly…it should be cataloged in the next revision of _Hogwarts, A History_."

Ginny laughed. "Either that or an announcement made to the school."

As if on cue, Harry heard a silence fall out in the Great Hall. Ginny and Harry looked at each other, before both sprinting to the door and opening it a crack, peeking out into the Great Hall. Dumbledore had just stood up, clearing his throat.

"I have something to announce to you all. We have found an appointment for Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who has consented to fulfill both his current duties and the additional workload. That means that Mr. Shacklebolt will no longer be with us, but we thank him for his willingness to help during the interim."

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood, graciously bowing and resuming his seat. Dumbledore continued.

"I am pleased to announce that Professor Snape will fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts post in addition to his position as Potions teacher. He will begin instructing the class after the holidays."

A gasp went up from all four tables, as Professor Snape stood and gave the smallest of bows before quickly sitting back down (Harry could swear that he saw a small smile curl at the edges of Snape's lips). Harry shot a look over at the Slytherin table, and was surprised to see Malfoy looking at Snape with a sour expression on his pointed face. In fact, most of the Slytherins seemed upset by the announcement.

There was a resounding silence in the Great Hall. Not a sound but the scrape of Professor Dumbledore's chair was heard as he sat back down. Slowly, whispers broke out, before hushed tones and finally talking resumed. Harry caught Ron's eye, who gave him a horrified look at the prospect of Snape teaching two classes. Harry mouthed the words _wait there_ before both he and Ginny retreated back into the antechamber, shutting the door as quietly as they could manage.

"So that's it!" Ginny said, clearly as shocked as the rest of the school. "He's happy because he finally got what he's wanted all this time!"

Harry scratched his chin, thinking deeply. Snape had always wanted the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but Harry had assumed that it would have made Snape even worse than he had been. Harry thought that there must be an additional reason for his behavior. He ran his theory past Ginny, who thought about it, before nodding her head in agreement.

"You could be right…he's never been nice to Gryffindor before…or even fair, for that matter," Ginny said, crossing her arms in thought. She tapped her foot on the floor as her brow furrowed, thinking about what it could possibly be—then her face lit up.

"Oh! Harry! You could ask him!" she said excitedly.

Harry was aghast. _"Ask him?_ What, do you think I have a death wish?"

Ginny burst into helpless laughter as Harry quoted her own words back to her, clutching her sides as if they would split. Harry smiled sheepishly, before chuckling a bit himself. Ginny managed to stop giggling, wiping a few tears from her eyes as she looked back at Harry.

"Seriously, though, why not ask him? If he's really being more friendly toward Gryffindor, what's the danger?"

Harry thought about it. Snape had been a bit odd lately, that much was clear. In the past, Harry would say that Snape abhorred the mere sight of Harry, and Harry admittedly had been in the same position. He recalled the times that Snape had been furious at him, all the way back to his third year when Snape had been thoroughly unbalanced by Harry so neatly snatching Sirius from under his nose. It had cost Snape the Order of Merlin, Harry knew, and Dumbledore had even suggested that it was the reason Snape had been so enraged at Harry.

Harry stopped as he thought about it again, piecing together the last few days. Snape had probably been happy to receive the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts, because it was what he had always wanted. And Harry had tried his best to be friendly with Snape when they had been researching his potion.

Then it hit him. _The potion_. Harry had named Snape as a co-inventor of the potion, giving him recognition for his work on researching it and filling in the gaps where Harry had messed up. Harry again thought about his third year when Snape had lost the Order of Merlin. What if Snape had been upset in his third year because he had lost the _recognition_ that the Order of Merlin entailed? And filling the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts over an Auror? That would certainly bring a bit of mention to Snape's name.

"Ginny," Harry said slowly, "what if Snape's happy because his work is being recognized publicly?"

Ginny thought about it. Then her eyes widened as she realized what Harry was talking about.

"You mean, Snape's happy because his work isn't covert for the Order of the Phoenix, where nobody's giving him credit for it?"

Harry was jolted by that. He hadn't thought about it, really, but it was true that all of Snape's work that had probably made a difference was done covertly, and he hadn't gotten a bit of praise for it at all, save from Dumbledore.

"Yeah, and since he's being given the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I named him as co-inventor of my potion, he's happy because he's getting attention." Harry was suddenly struck by another thought.

"What if…" Harry said, now practically trembling with excitement at his logic, "the reason for Snape's disliking me is because I'm famous for something I didn't really have any control over, and also because I'm the son of a man who was far more popular than him in school?"

Ginny looked excited as well. "That would make sense! But…"—the glint in her eyes faded a bit—"…what about Snape and the Slytherins? Why is he suddenly getting down on them?"

Harry thought about that, but try as he might, he couldn't explain it. He shrugged in dismay.

"I'm not sure about that," Harry said, a bit depressed that he wasn't able to totally explain Snape's behavior.

Ginny looked at him through narrowed eyes. "And what's this about you naming him 'co-inventor' of your potion?"

Harry told her about yesterday morning, after his little spat with Malfoy, and later that same afternoon, leaving out the bit about the message of the Pensieve's runes.

Ginny nodded as he finished telling her his story. "That would also make sense. They have an inventor's column in the Daily Prophet; it's sure to be in today's paper, if not tomorrow's. That would bring Snape a bit of notice, too."

Harry realized that through all of their discussion, he had managed to maintain his transfiguration rather easily. He stopped concentrating on it and let the arm dissolve.

"I think that I will go talk to Snape about it. I might be able to find out about why he's being so odd around the Slytherins, too," Harry said, pulling the cloak back over his shoulder.

Ginny looked at him with her chocolate-brown eyes very serious, a concerned expression on her face.

"Be careful what you say, Harry. Don't bring anything down on yourself," she said.

Harry nodded, before pushing the door open and going back into the Great Hall. Some students had started to file out, others were still eating. Harry looked up at the staff table, and was relieved to find that most of the staff members were still in their seats, including Snape. Harry walked back to Ron at the Gryffindor table, bending over close to Ron so he could speak without being overheard.

"I'm going to talk to Snape; I'll see you in the common room later," Harry said, grabbing another pasty and hurriedly eating it.

Ron looked like he thought Harry had gone mad. He opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it and just nodded, going back to his meal. Harry straightened up, and determinedly walked up to the staff table, stopping right in front of Snape.

Snape looked up, fixing Harry with a suspicious glare.

"What is it, Potter?" he growled, as though Harry had committed the world's biggest crime by interrupting his meal.

"May I speak to you, Professor? Er…alone, that is," Harry said, trying his very best to sound respectful.

Snape's suspicious look deepened, but he rose from his seat and circled around the table, striding from the hall with Harry in tow. Harry glanced back over his shoulder to see Ron waving at him as if to say 'nice knowing you.'


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

Snape opened the door to his office and stepped inside, Harry still following. The door closed by itself, the lock clicking ominously.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape asked, standing behind his desk, still surveying Harry with a calculating look.

Harry reminded himself that if he was to leave the office in one piece, and with the information he wanted, he would need to be civil.

"Well," Harry said, picking his words very carefully, "I'd like to congratulate you on being appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts, first. I know it's been something that you've wanted for a long time, and it says a lot of what Dumbledore think of you to appoint you over an Auror." Harry knew that he sounded like he was buttering Snape up; he grimaced mentally.

Snape's look softened a bit, but he was still on guard. "Thank you," Snape said shortly.

Harry took a deep breath before plunging on. "I also wanted to say that I've noticed you've changed a bit since the beginning of term." _Bad choice of words, bad choice of words_…

However, Snape didn't appear upset. He looked…thoughtful, if anything.

"Many things have happened since the beginning of term, Potter, most of which you are unaware of," Snape said, a bit of sarcasm in his voice. Harry reminded himself to keep his temper under control; it wasn't easy talking in a casual way to a person he had a long-standing enmity with.

"Well, I know that you seem to be making an effort to encourage some of the other students, and we've noticed," Harry said slowly, still being extremely careful how he worded his sentences.

"We?" prompted Snape.

"The Gryffindors."

Snape nodded, still looking as if he were in deep thought. "Yes, there was a particularly good second-year who managed to concoct a perfect Sleeping Draught fifteen minutes before the end of class."

Harry wasn't sure whether Snape was talking out loud or talking to him…it sounded almost as if Snape were _praising_ that second-year. Harry continued on.

"But, there's something I don't understand, Professor," Harry said, and Snape looked at him, waiting.

"Why did you stick up for me in the Great Hall yesterday morning?" Harry asked, hurriedly going over what he had said in his mind to make sure he was being respectful.

Snape again looked thoughtful. "I suppose…it is because it resembles something I went through…" Snape abruptly stopped, and his menacing demeanor was back in an instant.

"My reasons are my own, Potter. It is a personal matter," Snape said, as if Harry had tried to interrogate him.

Harry had a hunch what Snape was on about, though. "You mean when you were at school, and people made fun of you?"

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously, and Harry knew he had crossed a line.

"What I mean is…" Harry amended quickly, "…you were unpopular because of my father and the rest of his lot."

Snape still looked angry, but the edge was taken off.

"Yes, Potter, your father made my life at school miserable. Is that why you've come? To remind me of what you saw in the Pensieve last term?" Snape snapped.

Harry grimaced. "No, sir, that's not why I'm here. I think that my father overshadowed a lot of what you did at school…nobody saw what you accomplished, only your popularity."

Snape's angry look dropped right off his face. To Harry, he looked dumbfounded.

"What do you know of my accomplishments at school?" Snape said, almost in a curious voice.

Harry drew a blank. He honestly didn't know anything about when Snape had been at school, other than what he had seen in the Pensieve, and what Sirius had told him…

"Well, Sirius told me that you had the widest knowledge of the Dark Arts in school. He said that you knew more spells than the rest of the school put together," Harry said, hoping that Snape would buy it.

Snape's look of curiosity faded, but he didn't become hostile again. "I won't disagree with him," Snape said neutrally.

Suddenly, Harry had an epiphany, remembering when Ginny had reminded him of Snape being an agent for Dumbledore.

"You also were a spy for Dumbledore in school, weren't you?" Harry bluffed.

Now Snape's expression was one of astonishment.

"How do you know about that, Potter?" he said, looking a bit unnerved.

Harry silently thanked Ginny for making him think of it before continuing.

"Well, I guessed. I know that you work within the Death Eaters to bring Dumbledore information, and I guessed that you might have already been helping Dumbledore in school," Harry said, hoping that he wasn't wrong.

Snape's face was unreadable. "Yes, I was a Death Eater at school, and was collecting information for the headmaster before I graduated. Nobody knows about that."

Harry decided to act on a hunch. "You weren't just passing information to Dumbledore, were you? You were doing something more active than that."

Snape slowly nodded. "I was also bringing names of Death Eaters to Dumbledore, who would pass them along to the Order, and would be inspected by the Aurors in the Order, and consequently arrested."

Harry was stunned. "You mean you were sending Death Eaters to Azkaban…_while you were still in school?_"

Snape again nodded slowly, and Harry could tell that he was pleased that Harry had no idea that Snape had contributed so much.

"That's why Dumbledore knew you were really on his side…and that's why he's told me that it's between just you and him, because nobody else knew that you were active in school," Harry deduced.

Snape again nodded. "Nobody knew who it was that was responsible for the arrests of more than two dozen Death Eaters at Hogwarts—all among Slytherin, I might add."

Harry jumped at the mention of the Slytherins. "Speaking of that, sir, why is it that you're being so hard on the Slytherins lately?"

Snape's eyes flashed menacingly, and Harry flinched involuntarily. Fortunately for Harry, Snape wasn't mad at him.

"That is because the Minister of Magic is more cheaply bought than even I would have imagined. Many parents of Slytherin students gave impressive "donations" to the Ministry, and the O.W.L. scores were miraculously raised before they were returned to the students," Snape spat. _Cheating_, Harry realized.

"So…Malfoy was in on it, right?" Harry said.

Snape's eyes narrowed at Harry, but he nodded.

"Probably Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, too?" Harry said, guessing the pattern.

Snape nodded again.

"All Death Eaters," Harry said.

Snape nodded.

"But why is that?" Harry said, not seeing a connection. "Why would the Death Eaters fake the scores of their children?"

"I'll tell you why," Snape hissed angrily. "Because the Dark Lord has always picked the best and the brightest for recruitment. Despite what the grades in school, all that matters to the Dark Lord are the things that count: the O.W.L.s. If a student scores exceptionally well on the O.W.L.s, and the Dark Lord hears of it, he will inevitably send someone to look into the possibility of recruiting that student."

Harry understood now. "So the Death Eaters want their children to become Death Eaters as well?"

Snape sneered in contempt. "Do you know that the teacher is not allowed to circumvent their own rules, Potter? Only the headmaster may do that. I knew of the cheating before this term, but the headmaster would not allow me to prevent those with falsified O.W.L. results from enrolling in the N.E.W.T. class. So all those who scored an 'O' on their O.W.L.s were accepted into the class. He did, however, make a reverse exception for you," Snape said, his lip curling.

Harry did his best to ignore Snape's last comment. "So that's why they dislike you: because you're being hard on them to make it obvious that they're not cut out for N.E.W.T.s."

Snape again nodded. "I am, in a way, attempting to stop them from joining the Dark Lord's ranks. If the discrepancy is noticed, then they will be ignored. That is the way the Dark Lord operates."

"But nobody knows about it except the Order," Harry said.

Snape shook his head. "The Order does not even know about the falsified O.W.L. scores. Only the headmaster."

Harry took another opportunity. "But sir, nobody knows what you're doing…what you're contributing."

Snape again shook his head. "That is the way it will stay. Nobody _can_ know about it; my usefulness will evaporate if I am exposed as a spy."

Harry stopped for a moment and marveled at the situation. He was standing in Snape's office talking in friendly tones with him. _Maybe not friendly_, Harry thought, but certainly neutral, if not civil.

"Sir," Harry said, speaking plainly now, "I think that you should tell the Order. I know that it would increase the respect of them towards you, especially those who are still in school."

Snape was taken aback, registering surprise on his face. Harry decided to play his last card.

"I know that I haven't been an exemplary student, but now that I know about what you're doing—and what you've done in the past—I've gained a respect for you that I didn't have before," Harry said, as sincerely as he could. "When I first got here, Ron told me that you favored the Slytherin students, and I suppose it misconstrued my own perception of you. Now, I think that it was also because of who I was; a boy famous for something he had no control over, and the son of a person who made life hard for you, no less. I was getting attention for something that merely happened to me, and you had never gotten a shred of praise for your work for Dumbledore, except from him, probably."

Harry paused, taking note of the expression on Snape's face. It was unreadable, but Harry could tell that he had Snape's undivided attention.

"Now, you're getting the recognition that you didn't have before, and I think that's what's caused the difference in you. You've gone for so long without being praised that you've forgotten how to do it yourself."

Harry stopped, amazed at his own audacity. He glanced up at Snape, expecting to see anger again.

To Harry's utter shock, Snape was looking into the fireplace, with the same thoughtful expression on his face.

"Is that why you've come, Potter?" Snape asked. "To tell me that you understand exactly what I'm going through? To say that you've figured out the mystery behind my life?"

Snape turned to look at him. "Let me ask you something, Potter. Did you understand what you saw when you reversed my Legilimens spell on me?"

Harry shook his head dumbly.

Snape looked into the fire again. "My life was as complicated or even more complicated than yours, Potter. Do not pretend that you know anything about why I am the way I am." Snape said this not unkindly, but in a flat tone, as if merely stating a fact.

Harry felt that his borrowed time was running out. "There is one other thing, Professor."

Snape turned to look at him.

"What was the homework for Friday?" Harry asked.

Snape's mouth curled into a slight smile, before he looked back into the fire. "How about…one roll of parchment on reactants."

Harry grinned. He knew that wasn't the real homework Snape had assigned, but he was glad at the chance to show himself willing to amend his previous efforts.

"I'll have it ready, sir," Harry said, turning to go. He reached for the door handle, then stopped, staring at his hand. He had remembered something from earlier.

"Sir?" Harry said, turning around.

"What?" Snape said, still staring into the fire.

"I thought of something earlier…about Devil's Tears Potion," Harry said.

Snape turned to look at him curiously.

"Would someone who could cast the Third Arm Transfiguration be able to safely handle the potion?" Harry said, hoping Snape didn't read between the lines.

He did. "How long have you been able to do the Third Arm Transfiguration, Potter?"

Harry grimaced. It was almost as if Snape had cast Legilimens.

"This morning. I've been working on it since yesterday."

Snape's eyes went wide, and he sat heavily in the chair behind his desk.

"_Since yesterday?"_

Harry nodded. "Hermione told me about it, and I tried it twice. Then I tried again three more times today. The fifth time, I managed to complete the transfiguration."

Snape regarded Harry with something close to amazement. "Although you may not think it, Potter, I am fair in the way I grade. If you were truly able to do that in the space of two days, I see no reason why you can't take your Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. before Christmas."

Harry was floored. _Snape was giving him a compliment_.

"T-thanks, Professor Snape, but I'd rather sit the class," Harry said, realizing only after he'd said it that he was also complimenting Snape. Then Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Fair in the way you grade? What about all the House points?" Harry asked, for a moment forgetting that he wasn't being respectful.

Snape gave a smirk. "I said grading, Potter, not fringe benefits."

Harry groaned; he knew Snape was right. Hermione had always gotten top marks in Potions, and those who applied themselves also got good grades, despite having House points taken away.

"So," Snape said, looking back into the fire, "could you handle your potion safely with the Third Arm Transfiguration?" Snape pondered it, scratching his chin.

"I believe that you could, Potter. I'm sure you know about the power of the Third Arm Transfiguration?"

Harry nodded an affirmative.

"Well, the reason that the arm is impervious to potion damage is because it is not so much a metal, but a projection of force. Pure force, in any form, is extremely powerful; hence the strength of the arm. However, since the qualities of your potion are uncharted as of yet, here's what we'll do." Snape stood up, going over to the shelves lining the walls of his office and pushed some jars aside to reveal the cyan sphere, still hovering in the back. Snape slid his hand underneath it, picking it up and carrying it over to his desk.

"Like any spell, the Third Arm Transfiguration can be canceled with _Finite Incantatem_. However, because of the properties of the arm, you have to be the one to cast it. Since this is a direct cancellation of the arm, the transfiguration will cease immediately, saving the arm from damage, should it suffer any." Snape was acting much the instructor, sounding more like Remus Lupin than Severus Snape.

Harry nodded, discarding his cloak and concentrating deeply. It was the fifth time that day he had started the transfiguration, and Harry exerted himself to make sure that he didn't fail in the presence of the Potions master.

The arm quickly coalesced, more quickly than it had before, Harry thought. He held it out, running his hand over it before looking back at Snape.

Snape tilted his hand slightly so that the sphere slid out of his hand and onto the desk surface, still hovering inches above the tabletop. Harry slid his hand beneath it, so that the sphere was hovering in the palm of his hand.

"Cup your hand, Potter, so that none of it escapes onto the floor," Snape said, pulling out his wand.

Harry obligingly cupped his hand, and he also pulled out his wand, ready to cast if he needed to.

"Ready, Potter? On the count of three: one…two…three, _Finite Incantatem!"_ Snape said, pointing his wand at the sphere. It abruptly fell into the cup of Harry's palm, resting there. Harry made sure that none overflowed onto the floor.

It was cold, Harry realized. The potion didn't seem to be eroding his hand, either. It sat in the palm of Harry's hand, innocuous, yet deadly.

"As I suspected," Snape said, re-casting the Aerial Prison Charm. The sphere magically re-formed, hovering in Harry's hand. Harry handed it back to Professor Snape, who replaced it on the shelf.

"Well, Potter, don't you suppose that you should be getting back to your dormitory and getting started on that essay for me?" Snape said, turning around and raising an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry grinned. "Absolutely, Professor," Harry said, turning around and exiting the office.

Harry gave the password to the Fat Lady, and slipped through the portrait hole into the common room. Ron was sitting at a table by the fire with Hermione, who looked exhausted. Ron heard the portrait open and looked to see who it was. He looked genuinely surprised to see Harry.

"You're still alive?" Ron asked.

Harry grabbed a pillow off the couch and threw it at Ron, laughing. He sat down next to them, resting both his elbows on the table (he had put his cloak back on and had it firmly about him, so nobody could see his arms on the way back to his dormitory).

"Hermione, where were you at dinner?" Harry asked, surveying her. She looked like she hadn't had any sleep in ages.

"In the library, doing Potions homework," she mumbled, before yawning hugely.

"What was the Potions homework, anyway?" Harry asked, curious as to what Snape had assigned the rest of them.

"Two rolls of parchment on the uses of spleenwort," Ron said drearily.

Harry grinned to himself. If only they knew what Snape had assigned him…

"So, what did you see Snape about?" Ron asked, looking interestedly at Harry.

Harry froze. He had just given away his excuse of being with Snape to ask about the homework..

"Um…just congratulating him on getting the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," Harry said, knowing it was a poor excuse.

"_Congratulating_ _Snape?"_ Ron looked as if Harry should be in St. Mungo's for the rest of his life.

"Well, you know, he's wanted it for a long time, and maybe it'll help him to be a little nicer," Harry said.

"You know," Hermione said, picking her head up off the table, "Snape _has_ been acting differently lately." _So,_ Harry thought, _Ginny wasn't the only one who noticed._

"Yeah, I was seeing the same thing. Ever since Saturday morning…" Harry wondered how many other people had noticed Snape's behavior.

"I still think he's an insufferable git," Ron said, slumping onto the table.

Harry felt like defending Snape, after what he had just found out, but decided to leave the subject until later, to give Snape a chance to speak for himself.

"Well, I better get started on my Potions work, too. I promised Snape I'd have it for him tomorrow," Harry said, rising from the table and heading up the stairs to his dorm.

Harry quietly slipped into his room and grabbed a quill, ink and parchment from his trunk before climbing into his four-poster and shutting the hangings. He lit his wand and placed it carefully behind his ear, to give him some light. He began to write, the scratching of his quill lost in the snores from Neville's bed.

* * *

A/N: Wow, can't believe how quickly this chapter wrote itself. 

Just a quick mention, thanks to pimpilidimpi for your personalized feedback. It helped me to notice a couple of plot discrepancies, and I changed them! ;)

To the rest of you, don't forget to tell me what needs work. It does me no good for you to read and notice something that you think would make the story loads better, and then to simply close the window without telling me! (Plus, it's encouraging to know that people are indeed reading. You people wonder why there are so few good fanfics, and when you come across them, you don't review.)

If you notice spelling or punctuation problems, tell me!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?

**Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears**

Harry was abruptly awakened by Ron, who was digging his finger into Harry's shoulder.

"Whazzat?" Harry said groggily, sitting up. He had fallen asleep with his glasses and clothes still on, although he had been able to put his essay for Snape away before he had dozed off.

"Breakfast is over, mate…we're about to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts!" Ron said, shoving some toast wrapped in a napkin at Harry.

"What? Why didn't you get me up before?" Harry asked, stuffing the toast in his mouth.

"Figured you'd want your sleep…I heard you still working halfway through the night," Ron said, stuffing Harry's books into his own bag. Harry made a mental note to order a new schoolbag, as his had been destroyed by the Devil's Tears Potion.

"Yeah, wanted to get Snape's essay done," Harry said, swinging out of bed. He glanced around the room, making sure nobody else was there, then formed the image of the silver arm in his mind. The transfiguration was quick, and Harry noted that it was becoming easier to do every time. He dressed quickly, the presence of the silver arm making the process far less complicated.

"Guess we get to see how Snape does things, eh?" Harry said, fastening his cloak.

Ron shuddered. "It's going to be murder, mark my words." He swung his bag over his shoulder as Harry grabbed his wand off his bedside table.

"Let's hurry…I spent a lot of time getting on Snape's good side, and I'm not ruining it the very next day," Harry said, dashing out of the dormitory and leaping down the stairs three at a time. He let the arm dissolve as he ran into the common room, slamming out of the portrait hole and dashing through the corridors.

Ron and Harry skidded through the door just as the period began. Snape, who was standing at the front of the classroom, gave them a scowl.

"Find your seats," he said curtly, turning away and waving his wand at the blackboard. Harry and Ron quickly sat at their desks, and Ron passed Harry his textbook.

"Today we will be picking up where Auror Shacklebolt left off," Snape said. He turned to face the class, and Harry saw that behind him, an incantation had been written on the board: _Expecto Patronum._ Harry gave a small smile.

"Who knows what a Patronus is?" Snape said, surveying the class as if none of them even knew how to spell the word.

Hermione's hand shot straight into the air, as well as all of the DA member's hands. Harry also raised his, fully expecting that Snape would call on someone else.

"Well, well, it seems that Mr. Potter thinks he knows something useful," Snape said in a sarcastic voice. "What is a Patronus, Mr. Potter?"

Harry was surprised, but he answered in a firm and clear voice. "A Patronus is a projection of positive force, called up by a happy thought and the incantation _Expecto Patronum_," Harry said, thinking that he sounded much like Hermione.

Snape merely nodded. "An adequate definition," he said, addressing the class at large. They shot Snape looks of disbelief, and glanced between him and Harry, wondering what could have prompted Snape to call anything Harry put forth in class 'adequate.'

"The Patronus Charm," Snape continued, "is a complex spell used to repel dementors and lethifolds. As Mr. Potter said, it is cast with _Expecto Patronum_ and it is required that the caster have a happy memory fixed in his or her mind in order to correctly produce a Patronus." He stopped, surveying the class again. "Does anyone here think that they can cast the Patronus Charm?" he said, his tone clearly communicating that he doubted if any one of the Gryffindors could produce so much as wand sparks.

All the heads in the class turned in unison to Harry, who knew that all of them were waiting for him to volunteer.

"I do, sir," Harry said, wishing that somebody from the DA might have volunteered instead.

"Really, Mr. Potter?" Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "Come to the front of the class and demonstrate, then."

Harry slid out of his seat and walked to the head of the classroom, pulling out his wand. He cast about his mind for a happy thought, and his meeting with Hagrid the previous day sprang to his mind. He let the happiness and emotion flood his mind as he raised his wand.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

A silver stag erupted from the end of his wand, eliciting screams from several in the class who had never seen Harry conjure a Patronus. It raced around the classroom, slowing to a canter as it neared Harry. It slowly dissolved into mist, and when Harry turned to face Snape, he was nodding with approval.

"You may return to your seat, Mr. Potter. Five points to Gryffindor," Snape said curtly.

Several jaws dropped. This was history, as far as they were concerned. Severus Snape had awarded House points to Harry Potter.

"As I'm sure you all noticed, Mr. Potter's Patronus was the form of a stag. The shape of a Patronus is unique to those who conjure it. Every wizard will conjure a different Patronus. An incorrectly conjured Patronus will result in an indistinct mist," Snape informed them, copying what he was saying into a paraphrased form on the blackboard.

"Copy the contents of the blackboard, and then we will divide into pairs and practice the Patronus Charm," Snape said. "Mr. Potter, come and see me."

Snape walked to his desk, and Harry followed him. Snape sat down behind it, and leaned forward, so that he could speak to Harry in a low voice and not be overheard.

"A well-cast Patronus, Mr. Potter. I recognize the form, by the way," Snape said, a slight sneer curling his lip. "I wanted to inform you of a way to transcribe your notes by magic, so that you would not have to use your transfiguration in front of your classmates."

"You mean like you did with the notes on the blackboard?" Harry asked.

"Precisely. It is very similar to the Third Arm Transfiguration, though not in difficulty. You must visualize the words that you want to be written. The incantation is _Scriptius_. It can also be used nonverbally, which I'm sure we'll get to in due time," Snape said.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Harry said.

Snape merely inclined his head. "Back to your seat, Potter," he said in a normal voice, so that the rest of the class heard.

Harry walked back to his seat, noticing that many members of the class were eyeing him as if he had somehow enchanted Snape to act nice.

"What was that all about?" Ron whispered when Harry sat back down.

"Mr. Weasley, I have said it a thousand times, no talking in my classroom. Five points from Gryffindor," Snape called from his desk without even looking up.

An audible groan went through the classroom, and Harry gave Ron a meaningful look before drawing his finger across his throat. He fished around in Ron's bag for a piece of parchment, and pinning it down with his textbook and by leaning on it with his stump, he pulled out his wand.

Harry studied the notes on the blackboard until he had them firmly fixed in his mind. He pointed his wand at the parchment and muttered, "_Scriptius._"

Words blossomed onto the page, although they were messily written and slightly off-center. Still, it was legible, and Harry knew that he could improve with time and practice. He stowed the piece of parchment back in Ron's bag.

Ron, who had watched Harry magic the words onto the parchment, looked at his own quill with a look of disgust and discarded it. He pulled out his wand as well, and before Harry could stop him, jabbed it at his notes and said, "_Scriptius._"

Ron's parchment burst into bright blue flames, and was reduced to cinders before Harry could even think about putting it out. Several heads turned, and there was some muffled snickering. Snape got up from his desk and silently swept over to where Ron's notes were smoldering.

"Experimenting, Mr. Weasley? A further five points from Gryffindor. You can get your notes later from Mr. Potter. Now, everybody step away from their desks," Snape said, moving off to the side of the classroom.

Harry gave Ron a look of sympathy before standing up and going to stand at the side of the classroom. As soon as the class was standing against the wall, Snape gave a long, sweeping wave of his wand, and the desks flew to the far corner, leaving a large area in the middle of the classroom.

"Partner off, and begin practicing the Patronus Charm," Snape said, his tone of voice suggesting that it all their efforts would be fruitless.

Harry partnered Seamus, while Ron paired off with Hermione. The air was suddenly full of cries of _Expecto Patronum!_ There were several corporeal Patronuses produced, all by members of the DA, and Harry couldn't help but grin at the look of surprise on Snape's face…he was sure that Snape had never seen a group that could do the Patronus Charm so well.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Seamus yelled, waving his wand wildly. A large mist shot out of his wand, having almost a distinct shape. It looked to be a bear or something similar, but it dissolved without taking a defined form.

"Bollocks," Seamus muttered. "I still haven't been able to get my Patronus to do much more than that."

"Try and find a happier thought, Seamus," Harry suggested. "I didn't get mine to take shape until I had a really happy memory that I could call up."

"I can't think of anything, though," Seamus said glumly. "Ever since You-Know-Who came back, there hasn't been a whole lot of happy things."

"Then imagine a world without Voldemort. That's got to be a happy thing," Harry said.

Seamus closed his eyes, clearly thinking. There was a look of intense concentration oh his face, as if he were trying to figure out a complex Arithmancy problem. Slowly, he opened his eyes. His face took on a determined look, and raising his wand, he shouted, "_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_"

An enormous grizzly bear burst from the end of Seamus' wand, clawing the air with it's paws and stretching it's jaws wide in a soundless roar. It loped across the floor, dissolving after only a few seconds.

"You did it, Seamus!" Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder with his good arm.

Seamus looked exhausted, but there was a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Thanks, Harry. It was that image that helped me do it."

A shadow fell on them, and they both turned to find Professor Snape standing over them.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, are you normally in the practice of teaching other students in my class?" he said in a condescending tone of voice.

"No sir, just helping my friends defend themselves," Harry replied levelly, looking Snape straight in the eye. Snape met his gaze, as if searching for something in his thoughts. After a moment, he gave a small grunt.

"Five points to Gryffindor for your Patronus, Mr. Finnegan."

Seamus stared at Snape, his mouth hanging open, at a loss for words. Snape gave a small "hmph!" and swept away through the gaggle of students.

Harry looked after him, wondering about his attitude. On the one hand, Snape was awarding points to Gryffindor for their effort and achievement, but on the other hand, he was taking points away from Ron simply because he had burned his notes. Harry thought it was inconsistent and unfair…but he remembered what Snape had said the night before. House Points were merely a fringe benefit as far as he was concerned, and Harry realized that he should count himself lucky that they had managed to break even on House Points in one of Snape's classes.

The practice continued for the rest of the period until the bell rang.

"Homework is a twelve inches on the conjuring of the Patronus Charm. Also practice performing it for the next lesson," Snape told them as they packed their schoolbags.

Harry, Ron and Hermione traipsed out the door, heading for their next class. When they reached a split in the corridor, Ron waved at them as he headed back to the common room.

"I still don't understand why you and Ron didn't want to take Care of Magical Creatures. I mean, it's not _that_ bad," Harry said as he followed Hermione.

Hermione sighed. "First of all, Harry, I opted to take Arithmancy instead of Care of Magical Creatures, and secondly, yes, it _is_ that bad. I haven't forgotten Grawp yet!"

Harry grimaced. "All right…but you and Ron should probably visit him before the holidays. He probably thinks you're avoiding him or something."

Hermione rolled her eyes as they parted ways at the entrance hall. Harry waved as he exited the massive doors that led out to the grounds.

Harry was lost in thought as he walked down to the Care of Magical Creatures paddock. He was so lost in thought, in fact, that he didn't hear the light footfalls behind him until it was too late.

The hex hit him squarely in the back of the head, and it felt as if Harry had been brained by a sledgehammer. He collapsed forward onto his knees, pain coursing through him.

"Ha! Got you, Potter!" a drawling voice came from behind him. Harry heard Malfoy approaching, and a flash of anger shot through his mind. He envisoned the silver arm...the crushing power of it...

"Didn't think to look behind you, Potter? Nobody here to stop me from taking you apart like a..."

Harry jumped to his feet and grabbed the front of Malfoy's robes all in one motion. There was a look of momentary terror on Malfoy's face, but he quickly raised his wand and shouted, "_Furnunculus!_"

Harry raised the silver arm and deflected the curse with the back of his hand. He plucked Malfoy's wand from his grasp and threw it away into the grass. A look of utter horror was on Malfoy's face as he looked at the shining arm that was where no arm should have been. Harry switched hands, holding Malfoy off the ground by his robes.

"I'm warning you now, Malfoy. Don't cross me," Harry growled at him, feeling a thrill of power at having Malfoy at his mercy. He threw Malfoy from him, who landed in a heap several feet away. Harry turned his back on him again, letting the chrome limb dissolve. It had excited him, to be able to frighten Malfoy. The look of primal fear on Malfoy's face had given Harry a certain satisfaction. In truth, Harry would have loved to hit Malfoy in exactly the same way that Malfoy had hexed him...but he had promised Dumbledore that he would be responsible. And so, with his head still throbbing from Malfoy's curse, he continued on towards class.

* * *

A/N: Well, I decided, with the prodding of several well-timed reviews, to resume writing this particular fanfic. Tell me what you think...it's been awhile since I wrote in this style, so did I do only moderately horrible?  



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